


A Drink Called Lethe

by Breathless_Ivory



Category: The Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breathless_Ivory/pseuds/Breathless_Ivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miguel...</p><p>I should probably feel some sort of warmth or appreciation after hearing his name. However, all I can feel is the cold crisp feeling of meeting someone for the first time. </p><p>"Who am I?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Road to El Dorado belongs to Dreamworks. Duh.
> 
> Just a few things to clarify before you begin reading:
> 
> Lethe is a river of Hades. It means forgetfulness and oblivion, and is a synonym for amnesia. Departed souls would drink from the river and forget their past life so they could be reincarnated.
> 
> I would also like to give a HUGE thanks to JMarieAllenPoe (on FanFiction and tumblr) for being the beta for this entire story. She helped me think of the title and so much more. I honestly could not have done this without her. She is absolutely amazing. Thank you!
> 
> And so without further ado, please enjoy!

**~Tulio~**

Darkness is all around me. It envelops me like a cloud — everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Yet it is suffocating, and my chest heaves as I struggle to take in oxygen. I’m trying to find my way home, but I don’t know where I’m going. I need to find someone…someone I can’t quite place my finger on. I see a flash of red before it gets swallowed by the gloom. I can’t remember anything. All I know — all I can perceive — is this empty abyss.

_How am I supposed to find my way?_

_..._

My eyelids take a moment to adjust to the sudden burst of light as they slowly creak open. My head is fuzzy and thick with confusion and it feels as though something is ripping it apart. It is difficult to see through the bleariness that comes with waking up, and doubled with the thin haze of fog that coats the area it is just about impossible to perceive a thing. One color, however, stands out amongst all the rest: a splash of red that seems sickeningly bright against the gray atmosphere. A few moments and several drawn out blinks later, and I can see the offending color belongs to a person. A blond, sitting cross-legged on the ground, his eyes concentrated on something behind me.

A groan rips from my chest as I make an attempt to sit up. My head is throbbing with an intense pain that makes me want to jump off the nearest cliff. My muscles are stiff and protest the movement profusely.

“It doesn’t exist.”

I almost don’t hear the blond’s whisper. I rub my eyes with the palm of my hand, but it does little to quell my headache.

“What?” I croak. My voice is as dry as sand and thick with fatigue. The red-shirted man glances over at me with sad green eyes.

“You were right. It was never real.” I try to wrap my mind around what he could be talking about, but all that comes up is nothing. It feels as if my mind has been scrubbed clean and the blond has been washed right off the slate. What doesn’t exist? It bothers me perhaps more than it should that I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I can’t even think of my own name and having some small bit of clarification might help clear some of the anxiety clawing at my chest.

“What isn’t real?”

The look he gives me is of utter confusion. As if out of all the possible things he thought I might say, the words that actually come out of my mouth are the most improbable. He holds up the ancient paper he’s been holding onto as if it’s the answer to my question. It has meaningless pictures and words too small to read from this distance. I shake my head, as if trying to rid the pointless question from my mind. There are more important things to know.

“Where are we?” I ask, my voice coming out just a little stronger than before. The blond shrugs and pushes himself to his feet. He starts to roll up the paper, but seems to think better of it and lets it slip from his fingers. It floats to the ground like a feather and lands with the pictures facing up as if it’s a last ditch attempt to convince someone of its virtue.

“Beats me. I’m sure we’ll figure something out though.” He hops up onto a white horse nearby that I had missed beforehand. He turns towards me and gives me a smile that seems incredibly forced.

Neither of us says anything for several moments. His smile slips away bit by bit until his expression changes from that of glee to concern.

“Are you coming or what?” he asks with a laugh. I’m not, in fact, sure what I’m going to do. Maybe it’s my headache, or maybe it’s the fact that my mind feels far too empty for comfort, but I suddenly feel bolder than I did seconds ago.

“Sorry, I don’t feel comfortable getting on a horse with a stranger.” Emotions flash across the blond’s face too quickly to decipher. Eventually he settles on one that I hadn’t expected–amusement.

“You always have been the boring one,” he says flashing me a smirk.

“Look…you. I really don― _ow._ ” My brain screeches as I try to stand. I use a large rock behind me to lean against when a head rush floods my mind.

“Wait, wait, that wasn’t a joke?” Blondie jumps from the stallion and approaches me. He seems friendly enough, but a panic from somewhere deep inside sets in, and I take a step back from his advances. I hold up my hands in protest.

“No, it wasn’t. Who are you?”

The question seems to do more harm than good. Blondie recoils as if I just slapped him. I feel a twinge of regret—but only for a moment. Instead of answering my question, he raises an eyebrow.

“How hard did you hit your head?” As if in response to his inquiry, pain slices across my brain like its being carved open. I gasp in agony, and my hand instinctually rises to press at the wound just above my ear. My hair is matted and sticky with blood, and when I pull away in shock, my fingers are stained crimson. I look back up at the blond with a silent plea for help, but he’s seen the blood and looks about as lost as I feel.

“Oh my _God_.Okay, okay, we can fix this! We just have to _stay calm!_ ” He begins to pace back and forth and runs his fingers through his yellow hair anxiously, “Come on, Miguel, _think!_ ”

For a moment, I almost think he’s addressing me, but when he doesn’t acknowledge me further I realize he’s talking to himself.

_Miguel…_

I should probably feel some sort of warmth or appreciation after hearing his name. However, all I can feel is the cold crisp feeling of meeting someone for the first time.

“Who am I?” I press.

“Shut up, Tulio, I have to think,” he mutters. The blond suddenly snaps his fingers as if an idea has come to him. Miguel turns to me and opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a loud whinnying that makes my head weep. I turn to glare at the cursed creature, but my anger melts into surprise when I see what has rifled it.

Right next to the animal is a beautiful woman with long, silky, black hair and wearing fear on her face as plainly as she is her clothing. Large brown eyes looking at us as if we are the bane of her existence and frozen mid-run as if the very sight of us is enough to stop her dead in her tracks. Miguel grabs ahold of my wrist and drags me towards his steed.

“Horse, horse, horse, horse, horse…” he mutters under his breath.

The woman’s eyes grow even wider as Miguel hops aboard the creature and pulls me up with him. The blond leans down to whisper in his animal’s ear.

“Come on, Altivo, we have to get out of here!”

Then the woman seems to find herself again and is about to scamper off into the jungle when no more than eight men flood from the sides of the statue. They adorn the furs of various animals, and Miguel squeaks in horror when the biggest of the group glares at us suspiciously. They wield makeshift spears and flimsy shields, but, even if they had nothing, they’d still overpower us.

“Uh, hi there. Sorry to bother you. We—we were just, um, leaving. R—Right now.” The blond trips over his words with uncertainty, and I groan internally as the more than conspicuous words tumble from his lips. Suddenly, the leader grunts and shoves his spear into Miguel’s face as if in warning, and my strange companion lets out another terrified yelp. “Lead the way,” he whispers.

The constant thunderous drumming of the falls has always been there, but it is only now that I realize they exist. They are truly brilliant: stretching tall and glorious as far as the eye can see. It is a beautiful clear blue, and it cascades into the pool below in a violent fit of white foam. In the distance, I can hear a bird calling with a proud, strong voice. The whole place seems mysterious but vibrant. Like it has a secret and can’t wait to share it.

Of course, this is all taken in via my peripheral vision because my eyes are obsessively fixated on the warrior’s incredibly pointy-looking spears. It may be a tad overdramatic, but the only thing I can think right now is that I’m far too young to die—especially before I’ve experienced anything besides the last five minutes.

Then the leader of the group slips behind the waterfall. I feel Miguel tense as a realization dawns on him.

“I knew it,” he murmurs.

Behind the cascades is a large and incredibly foreboding cavern with jagged rocks that look suspiciously like teeth. Miguel climbs off Altivo and enthusiastically climbs into one of our captor’s tiny boats. I hesitate, unwilling to follow but knowing that I cannot go back.

As we sit down across from the olive-skinned woman, she sighs dejectedly and glares at us as if we have just ruined her life. Though to be fair, I’m sure we somehow have.

My head still hurts, but it is thankfully beginning to dull into a bearable ache. The boat rides at a lulling rhythm that does little for my frayed nerves. It’s far too quiet, and it reminds me of my silent memories.

Miguel suddenly chuckles softly and nudges me as if he has thought of a funny joke. When he sees the blank look I give him, he seems to remember my stare and glances away sharply before I can apologize.

It’s not long before Miguel gasps softly and whirls around. I follow his gaze to see that the boat is leading us straight towards an overhanging of vines. Sunlight shines through them, and, as the boat nears its destination, Miguel nudges me as if he knows something I don’t.

It’s like a fable has sprung to life and has landed in our laps. As we draw close, the vines part, and we are graced with what I’m sure is the most beautiful sight eyes can behold.

“El Dorado…” I hear Miguel exclaim quietly. The sun shines its magical golden rays on a city that certainly deserves it. Temples that rise to the sky and colors so bright they are practically blinding. Even the river has a beautiful yellow gleam to it, and the whole scene professes magnificence.

I’m being filled with an unrecognized sense of belonging that could be due to the fact that I cannot recall having ever been anywhere else. Briefly, I forget that I don’t know who I am, and simply accept that I can’t possibly belong anywhere else.

The moment doesn’t last long and I suddenly realize how insane this all is. How _unfair._ The stares I am receiving from all the citizens who have congregated in the city square make me uncomfortable, and when the boat reaches the port, I don’t want to get out. I don’t know what is going to happen to me if I do, and I want to prolong my fate as long as possible. The blond grabs my hand and pulls me out of the boat when he notices my hesitation. Perhaps he isn’t afraid, or perhaps he’s just better at hiding it.

As we mount the horse and ride towards what I’ve assumed to be our death, Miguel sighs and turns to look me in the eye.

“Since you don’t remember me, this seems like a great time to apologize for that girl in Barcelona.”

I wish his words could ignite either anger or laughter in me, but the fact that I’m unsure of what I’m supposed to be feeling just proves even further how far gone I am. I purse my lips and look away, suddenly unable to look this man in the eye. No matter how difficult it is for him to be forgotten, it is a thousand times worse to forget. He gets to die as he is. I get to die as a stranger to myself.

“Behold! As the prophecies foretold, the time of judgment is now.”

A man reveals himself from the top of a case of stairs. He is too far away to see that well, but even from this distance I can see his eyes shifting maliciously. His words send a chill running down my spine like lightning as he confirms my suspicions.

“Citizens, did I not predict that the gods would come to us?”

A beam of light shines through the darkness, glowing with a possibility that almost seems too good to be true. Is he addressing us? It doesn’t seem possible, but as I look at all the captivated stares the people are sending our way, I begin to think it may be conceivable.

Am I a god?

I shift my eyes towards Miguel desperately, trying to find a reason to believe I could be so powerful. I have many reasons not to, but if he believes, then so do I. It seems so improbable, but somehow I can’t entirely dismiss the idea. So many questions flood my mind that I almost miss the next words the man shouts.

“My Lords, I am Tzekel-Kan, your devoted High Priest and speaker for the gods,” he introduces with a bow.

He’s most definitely speaking with us. He seems so positive that we are gods that I almost start believing right then and there. The thought sends another shiver down my spine, but this time for an entirely different reason. I look around at all the people gathered here, their expressions wide-eyed and hopeful, but terrified and uncertain at the same time. I instinctively nudge Miguel’s arm in an unspoken plead for him to take charge. If we are gods as these people claim, then he would know what to do.

“I am Chief Tannabok,” a robust man states gently as he approaches our horse. “What names may we call you?”

“I am Miguel,” the blond announces. I swallow nervously as I realize that I cannot recall what it was my companion called me. I furrow my eyebrows in thought, and the two men in front of us begin to look at me strangely. Miguel opens his mouth as if to answer for me when the name pops back into my head from nowhere.

“I am Julio.”

“ _Tulio,_ ” Miguel hisses under his breath.

“But you can call me Tulio,” I correct myself immediately, wincing as my voice cracks from nerves.

Tzekel-Kan hesitates for a moment, a vaguely perplexed look spreading across his face. He blinks to right himself. “Your arrival has been greatly anticipated.”

 _Why?_ I can’t help but wonder. _Were we sent here? Why can’t I remember?_

“My Lords, how long will you be staying in El Dorado?” The Chief’s question is cut off when Tzekel-Kan’s small eyes suddenly light up as if he is a bird who has just spotted something shiny. He shoulders past the Chief and Altivo with a swagger in his step.

“Aha! I see you have captured this temple-robbing thief. How would you have us punish her?” The High Priest grabs the wrist of the olive-skinned woman. She gasps and pulls away from his tight grasp, but he is built well and has no difficulty dragging her front and center. To be honest, I had all but forgotten about the woman, though as I lay eyes on her again I wonder just how I had done so. Gorgeous silky hair and intelligent brown eyes catch my attention for a moment, and I struggle with trying to pull my attention to the words tumbling out of her luscious lips.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no! My Lord, I am not a thief. See, the gods sent me a vision to bring them tribute from the temple to guide them here…My only wish is to serve the gods.” Her face contorts into an expression of pure desperation. I cannot help but feel sorry for her. She is a horrible liar, but somehow that just adds to her charm.

I descend from the horse and approach them. A small strangled noise comes out of Miguel’s throat as I do so, but he is quick to cut it off. He follows suite, catching his foot on the reins of the animal and almost falling over.

“Let her go,” I demand. I’m not sure where this sudden ethical surge has come from, but it probably has something to do with curvy hips.

The High Priest still has the woman’s wrist tight between his fingers. He stares at me in silence for a moment before his fingers loosen enough for her to pull away. Her brown eyes, which held so much contempt and distrust for me before, now are obliged and relieved. The olive-skinned woman glares at Tzekel-Kan with disgust as he shoves the stolen tribute into her hands.

“Then you will begin by returning this to its rightful place,” he requests of her. She goes, but not without throwing me a grateful glance over her shoulder first.

“My Lords, why now do you choose to visit us?” Chief Tannabok cuts off my view of the beautiful woman as he steps in front of her. My eyes fixate on him automatically, and I blink a couple times, trying to process what he is asking.

“Enough!” Tzekel-Kan scoffs. “You do not question the gods!” For once, I am happy for his presence, though I cannot rightfully say he doesn’t still make me uncomfortable. The disgruntled expression on the Chief’s face awakens the ethical surge once more, and, before I can think about it, words begin spilling out of my mouth.

“Ah, no, it’s fine. He has a city to protect. It must be hard to believe we are who we say we are.”

Where are these words coming from? It’s as if a part of me has already conformed around this new idea, while the other half hisses and shies away.

Tzekel-Kan gets that confused look on his face again. Like I’m saying the opposite of what I’m supposed to be saying. I glance at Miguel and realize I’ve been causing that expression a lot since I woke up. I wonder how _Tulio_ would have reacted in this sort of situation.

“So prove it!”

“What?” Miguel splutters.

“Prove you are the powerful deities in which we summoned. Show us the truth of your divinity!”

A hungry light awakens in the High Priest’s eyes, and a dark smile spreads across his face. This is the moment of truth for all of us. My heart begins pounding faster, and I hear Miguel begin breathing heavily. If I am a god, then my lost memories prevent me from proving my worth. I don’t know what my powers are, or how to control them. I nudge the blond once again, knowing that if we’re actually deities, these men in front of us aren’t the only ones who want proof.

“Miguel, show them.”

His green eyes are as wide as plates as he processes my words, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish. He clears his throat and grabs my wrist.

“Uh, hold on a sec.”

The blond drags me to a more secluded area and stares at me silently for a moment, his eyes frantic and large. Then suddenly he slaps me across the arm with the back of his hand.

“ _What was that!?_ ”

“They asked us to prove we’re gods, what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, we don’t feel like it right now?’ I hardly doubt that would prove anything to the mortals.”      Miguel’s mouth hangs open for a moment as he goes over what I just said in his head. Once again, I get the suspicion that I said something horribly wrong.

“You’re kidding me. Tulio, you’re not a god.”

Somehow, I don’t feel surprised. Horribly disappointed and scared, oh yes, but not surprised. My chest tightens as the panic I had hoped I’d gotten rid of returns, and I blink rapidly. My headache returns full force and I press fingers to my temple. Yet something about his words bothers me. Does that mean _he_ is a god?

“Maybe we should just tell the truth and beg for mercy,” he mumbles. I don’t want to agree with him. The thought of revealing myself after all this makes my stomach curl. However, I know we may not have another option right now. Lord Miguel must not want to share his credit with a mortal. But what does that make me? A mere servant?

I’m about to tell him all this when the crowd gasps loudly. Miguel continues to mutter inaudibly to himself as I turn to see what has upset the people. In the distance ominous smoke emits from a volcano. The ground below my feet begins to rumble as the mountain quakes with fury. A feeling I can’t describe washes over me as I see the fear in the citizen’s eyes. Suddenly, no matter what Lord Miguel has just said, I know this is something I must do.

I step away from the lord and face the volcano, my chin high. I raise my hand towards the heavens and take a deep breath, summoning my courage before it’s too late.

“ _STOP!_ ”

My voice sounds strong and mighty as my exclamation echoes throughout the city. The volcano continues to erupt for only a moment before the quaking slows to a halt and the smoke descends back into the mountain’s massive face with a wheeze. Silence envelops the city as all eyes become plastered on me, including Lord Miguel’s. I don’t move a muscle; just continue to stare at the volcano. All the natives fall to their knees in worship and cheers overwhelm us as they exult.

I look down at my hand, turning it over as I inspect it. The sound of my voice resonates through my skull, bouncing around like a ball. Something unexplainably powerful overcame me as the shout ripped itself from my body. Almost as if…

Lord Miguel is staring at the volcano, jaw dropped, and I smirk.

“Still think I’m not a god?” I ask.

“H—How did you…” he trails off and shakes his head as if it no longer bothers him. The blond projects his chin to the sky and struts back towards Tzekel-Kan as if he was the one who had just performed the deed. Not wanting to be outdone, I copy his movements and do the same. The look on Tzekel-Kan’s face is priceless, and I know that, finally, I have done something right.

“O Mighty Lords. Come. Let me show you to your temple.”

The two of us follow both the Chief and High Priest up the long set of stairs that lead to our temple. By the time we reach the top, Lord Miguel is wheezing and attempting to catch his breath. My limbs are burning as well, but as a god, I figure it is best not to show my weakness. I stand tall and straighten my back. When Miguel sees me this way, he quickly does the same.

We are ushered into an exquisite looking room with colors as bright as the sun. Lord Miguel and I look around in appreciation at the meticulousness in which this building has been crafted. Golden goblets filled to the brim with mysterious purple liquid and bright delicious green grapes sit temptingly on a table. Colorful pillows and blankets adorn the furniture everywhere. Vibrant plants with flowers of every color dot the area. Large windows that overlook the city line the walls. In the very back of the room are two mighty golden thrones that overlook the entire temple.

“To commemorate your arrival, I propose a reverent ceremony at dawn,” the High Priest declares.

The idea has merit. Such deep respect and awe is laced in his words, and somehow I feel inclined to trust him despite his more than unlikable appearance. A ceremony sounds like a spectacular idea.

“And perhaps I could prepare a glorious feast for you tonight.”

The Chief is humble and polite. However, his suggestion seems much more meager in comparison to the High Priest’s.

“Which would you prefer?”

“Ceremony,” I say.

“Both,” Lord Miguel says at the same time. Miguel glances at me, his green eyes growing larger. Suddenly my stomach feels much emptier than it did moments ago like my abdomen has caved in. I consent with a sigh.

“Both!” Lord Miguel chirps. He’s entirely too cheerful for this, and I roll my eyes in contempt.

“My Lords,” Tannabok and Tzekel-Kan excuse themselves.

I look at Lord Miguel expectantly, “Well?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow in confusion as if he doesn’t know what I could possibly be talking about. Suddenly, he purses his lips and sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder. The gesture feels familiar somehow, and I find myself leaning into his touch.

“I know this must be confusing. I’ll try to explain who you—”

“No, no, no, I want to know what our mission is.” I say with a wave of dismissal. Lord Miguel blinks.

“Mission?” he asks blankly.

“Yes! Why were we sent here? They said we were ‘greatly anticipated’ as if we have a reason for being here.” A baffled look comes across Lord Miguel’s face, and he stumbles over his words for a moment.

“Uh—they, um…” Lord Miguel trails off, his eyes shifting around as if he’s thinking hard. He doesn’t answer for a moment, eyes trained on the ground and staring at something as if he’s staring past the floor. I’m about to speak up when he beats me to it.

“The main man upstairs said you weren’t allowed to know,” he says slowly. “You have to – erm – find that out for yourself.” His excuse seems legitimate. This experience has been rather difficult to say the least. Perhaps I was sent here for some sort of test and Lord Miguel is here to supervise.

“Hm. An interesting predicament.” Lord Miguel rubs his temples with pale slender fingers and sighs heavily.

“You have _no_ idea.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**~Miguel~**

I don’t remember much about my mother—she died when I was still a boy. However, one thing I do recall with the utmost potency was her voice. She loved to sing. Every night she would sing me to sleep, and every night I had pleasant dreams.

When the small epidemic swept through and wiped both my parents out for good, it was difficult to get back on my feet. I’d never been alone before, and now I had no one. Just like a lot of little boys and girls in the town, I found myself as a lonely, starving, and desperate thirteen-year-old without a penny to my name. Every time I closed my eyes at night, it took hours to fall asleep. I missed the music that kept away the bad dreams.

So when I saw the fisherman singing to a tune on his mandolin, I became entranced. I don’t know if he ever saw me, but every evening I hid nearby listening to him sing. It wasn’t the same, but it was as close as I was ever going to come. His voice was deep and rough and vastly different from my mother’s smooth petite one, yet the mere sound of it still sent a chill up my spine.

When he didn’t show up one day, I became scared that I’d never see him again. I didn’t want to lose touch with the music that had become an essential part of my life. He showed up the following day, but my fear remained intact. That night I followed him home, determined and resolute in my decision.

In the dead of night I peered into his house through a small window. The fisherman was too trusting for his own good, and I found that I could open the shutters with ease. I crawled in, catching my foot on the windowsill. My hands caught myself on the ground and a small ‘ _eep_ ’ escaped my throat. I kept perfectly still; waiting for what I was sure was my inevitable death. When no one came running, I pushed myself to my feet slowly and took a deep breath. Moonlight shone in through the small sliver of window still open and lit up exactly what I had come searching for. The fisherman’s mandolin sat balanced against a wall, the cords appearing to gleam invitingly.

Fingers twitched as I picked up the instrument. I desperately wanted to pluck the strings and light up the room with music, but I knew that I had to escape first. However, as I peered through the hole in which I climbed in, I saw a guard stationed right outside. I bit my lip, eyes flitting around the room in panic. They landed on the entrance to another room, and I snuck towards it hesitantly.

It was dark but didn’t rule out sight entirely. As my eyes squinted in an effort to see, they spotted a small bit of light on the other side of the room. I tiptoed across the floor slowly and carefully, one hand out in front of me and the other grasping the mandolin in a sweaty palm. I was almost home free when my foot marched on an extremely not floor-like figure.

The moment I stepped on his face, I knew Tulio and I would be together forever—especially since he didn’t rat me out. It’s the single greatest moment of my life, because it’s the reason for all the great things in my life.

But now, as I stare at him across the temple room, I feel like a stranger. His blue eyes used to stare at me with all the love and adoration I felt for him. Now they just appraise me coldly and blankly, as if I’m just a colleague.

I’ve never felt a more intense pain than I do when I realize he doesn’t remember the night I stole his father’s mandolin. That he doesn’t remember _me._

“Lord Miguel, I need your help.”

The Old Tulio wasn’t much for asking for help. He’d moan and complain about every little inconvenience but any help I offered was normally thrust upon him. Apparently _Lord_ Tulio feels differently on the issue. I wander over to him, ready to help with whatever he wants.

“Could you latch my…thing.” He fumbles for a word to describe his collar before settling for just pointing. Not long after settling in the temple, a servant girl had visited and presented us with proper attire for the celebration. I hold back a chuckle and go to assist him. That’s when I notice that just above his left ear his raven hair is still caked with dried blood. It’s almost difficult to see since his hair is so dark, but up close it’s more than obvious. I wonder if he even remembers he hit his head.

“Come over here first. We have to clean you up.”

I lead him over to a pool of fresh water that rests in the center of the temple and make him sit on the edge. I grab one of the less decorative blankets and dip it in the cool liquid. Tulio squirms uncomfortably as I press the cloth to his head, and I try not to push too hard to avoid hurting him.

The wound is not as deep as I had originally thought. It’s just a small sliver that’s no more than a couple inches long. It has already scabbed over, and his dark hair, once cleaned, should do the job in hiding it. I’m not sure if that’s the kind of thing the people here would notice, but I don’t want to take any chances. It doesn’t take long for the blood to flake off, but I keep washing him anyways, just in case.

“I really don’t think this is necessary.”

“Of course it is, darling.”

I don’t mean to say it, but the words are so natural—so right—that I don’t even think about it. Tulio pulls away and gives me a most curious expression. I search his eyes desperately, looking for the smallest flicker of his old self being awakened by the words, but all I see is concern wrinkled on his brow.

“Who exactly do you think I am?”

The question catches me off guard. Who is he to tell me I don’t know him, when he can’t even tell me his middle name?

Before I can respond, the two of us are startled by a loud crash at the opposite end of the temple. The woman that Tulio had saved before is standing there, a mortified expression plastered on her face. At her feet is the tribute she had been told to put back, her hands still in midair as if she is pretending she didn’t just drop it.

“Oh—excuse me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she trails off, and bends over to pick up what appears to be a golden face. She puts it in its proper place and fiddles with the edge of her clothing.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Tulio says as he stands. He adjusts his feathered crown before strutting towards her with a mischievous smile. “Mortals make mistakes. It is their way.”

The woman blinks, the smallest of smiles curling at the ends of her lips. Tulio’s roguish smile makes me swallow hard. All the times he’s looked at me like that flash through my mind and I grit my teeth. I lock my hand into a fist and pound my leg lightly, resisting the urge to replace my leg with her face.

“Uh-huh. Well, I definitely agree with that,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.

“What’s your name?”

“Chel,” she says, sticking out her hand. Tulio takes it gently and kisses her knuckles. My eyes practically bulge out of my head at the sight. Chel looks slightly surprised as well, obviously having been going for a handshake. She looks flustered, but not entirely upset.

I clear my throat loudly and strut over to them. “Lord Tulio and I must attend a feast.” I announce, separating their hands, “If you’ll excuse us.”

I grab Tulio’s wrist, ignoring his protests as I drag him away from that she-devil. Right before we leave I adjust his headdress which had fallen crooked, and then I shove him out of the temple before he can get away from me. I haven’t had to deal with Tulio flirting with someone _else_ before, and I realize now that there’s a very good reason for that. This small knot curling in my stomach is certainly not a feeling I like, and it’s not something that I want to have there because of Tulio.

El Dorado looks ten times more divine than it did when we had first arrived. I am impressed with how much they accomplished in just under an hour. Decorative lights litter the entire area and exquisite pottery and figurines are on display everywhere. Right in the center of the plaza is a replica of the stone monument that wounded Tulio. It looks exactly the same, and just the sight of it causes my hands to get clammy. I look away, trying to forget about the entire catastrophe for a moment, even though I know the effort is futile.

Tulio lifts his chin high and places his hands on his hips as the citizens see their beloved heroes. Normally, I’d feel ecstatic that people believe I’m a powerful deity. If you were to subtract the disaster I’m currently knee-deep in, then I’d wager I’d be having a grand time fooling these people right now.

However, the taste of such a victory is much less sweet without Tulio to keep me from doing something stupid. Now, instead, the tables have turned and I know that if I don’t keep a close eye on the Spaniard, he’ll do something incredibly reckless. I’m not sure how I’ll recognize it, seeing as how I’m usually the one Tulio yells at for being careless, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

My thoughts are interrupted as energetic music begins to blare and more and more people congregate around the bottom of the steps. Cheers envelop us as we descend the stairs, and I feel a strange sensation coiling in my chest. It can’t be explained, but suddenly the situation doesn’t seem quite so bleak.

Chief Tannabok approaches as we finally reach the bottom and presents us with a bowl of a delicious looking purple liquid. Tulio accepts it immediately, a wide grin spreading across his face as he drinks it. He passes it to me and I let the liquid pour down my throat in a tempting flood.

I take the bowl away from my face after the first big gulp of the juice settles in my stomach. My head begins to feel the faintest bit of fuzzy and I have to blink to get ahold of myself. I suddenly realize what the drink contains, and I know it works _wonders._ I can see Tulio eyeing the bowl and I realize it’d be best to not let him get drunk. I lift the bowl to my lips again and gulp down the entire dish, wiping away the drops that are trickling down my chin.

Tulio’s pout lasts for only a moment before he runs off to the next thing that catches his attention. With a soft sigh, I resign myself to the knowledge that it’s going to be a long night.

I have to take longer strides than normal to keep up with him. The natives quickly fall to their knees as we pass, and I can’t help but grin as they do so. Some of them reach out to touch me, and I take their hands one by one. The expressions on their faces as I embrace them makes me think they want to both laugh and cry. When the people reach for Tulio, he glances at the hand for a moment before looking away. I may be imagining it, but I can swear I almost see his nose curling upwards. Whether it’s in disgust or pity I can’t tell. I’m not even sure I want to know.

“Some party, eh?” Tulio turns towards me and says with a wink. I’m glad to see he’s warmed up to me at least a little, though a small part of me almost doesn’t want to get to know this stranger that has taken over my partner’s body.

“I’ve seen better,” I lie before really thinking about it.

Tulio blinks; his smile momentarily slipping from his face before it returns full force. He waves a hand in the air as if my statement is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. Like he’s been attending parties his entire life which, I suppose, is true in a sense. He grabs ahold of my elbow and leans in close to my ear to be heard over the roaring of the music as it suddenly reaches its forte.

“We’ll have to change that then.”

Suddenly I don’t care how he’s acting. All I can see is his arm wrapped around mine and all I can feel is the warmth of his breath on my skin.

He drags me off into the core of the celebration. The crowd parts eagerly as we pass by. I can practically feel the stares of hundreds burning my body as we advance through the new path. I catch a native man staring at me, but their gaze quickly darts away as if it is a sin to be caught watching a god. For all I know, that could very well be true.

We make it to a heavily decorated table with exotic foods beyond my wildest dreams and my mouth starts to water at the sight. A large bowl resides in the center filled to the brim with the potent purple wine. My concern about Tulio drinking too much still stands, though I don’t really see the harm in a couple drinks. Back in Spain, Tulio had been able to handle his alcohol just fine. Like he has read my thoughts, my partner grabs a cup and fills it with the punch, raising it in the air as if in a toast. My fingers itch to grab some of my own, but I remind myself that my mind needs to retain what little clarity it has left.

“Hey, Tulio,” I say, suddenly desperate for conversation, “even the _apples_ are golden.”

I nod my head towards the end of the counter where a small bowl of the yellow apples reside. They appear to glow in the starlight, and for a moment I honestly cannot tell if they are made from pure gold or not. Tulio glances at the bowl and rolls his eyes, leaning against the table for support.

“Yeah, and? It _is_ the City of Gold. Did you think they’d be red?” It’s so much like something he would have said that I titter nervously.

“I dunno. I like red. Only the best for the gods, right?” I expect him to laugh or at least crack a smile, but he only nods solemnly and strokes his chin in thought.

“You’re right. I’ll need to talk to them tomorrow and change it.”

The delusion that Tulio is at my side vanishes with that statement. I gape at him for a moment. It still catches me off guard at times when I remember this isn’t my real partner next to me. The reminder sends pain through my body every time I realize my mistake, yet it keeps slipping my mind. I hope that he won’t be lost so long that I stop forgetting. The moments when I seem to catch a glimpse of the real Tulio are well worth the shock of realizing they’re a fantasy.

Tulio downs the rest of his drink and sighs contentedly. His eyes begin to droop ever so slightly, and his smile seems far too relaxed for his own good. Before I can warn him to put down the wine, he has grabbed my hand and is dragging me through the throngs of dancing natives, his grasp loose but snug at the same time. His skin is cool to the touch and is a nice contrast to my boiling palms.

“Tulio, where are you—”

“It’s our celebration, not a buffet.” I don’t bother to point out that _technically_ it is a feast.

He stops in front of a rock mural that supposedly depicts our lordship. The resemblance is uncanny, and I almost cannot blame the natives for being fooled so easily. After all, if someone stopped a volcano from erupting with his mere voice, I’d probably be convinced they were heavenly as well. It still confuses me as to how Tulio accomplished such a feat, but if I start to think about it too much my head begins to ache.

Tulio breaks me from my thoughts when he grabs ahold of my hand and makes an attempt at pulling me atop the sculpture with him. The inquiry of how he got up there in the first place is on the edge of my tongue, but I bite it back with the knowledge that I’ll go crazy if I start questioning every little thing. If you glance away for even a moment, it seems, you miss everything.

“Look at them, Lord Miguel.” He says, gazing down at the people with wide eyes. “They love us.”

Tulio’s eyes are wide as they take in the sights below us. The torches standing nearby cast a dancing firelight into his blue eyes, making it seem as if they are alive. Everything about the moment seems fragile. As if at any moment I’ll wake up and we’ll still be in Spain or in the ocean and none of this will have ever happened. I almost wish that were true, but I know that I won’t wake up from this no matter how hard I pinch myself.

I shift my attention from my partner to the hordes of villagers who have begun to gather below us, as if they expect an eloquent speech. Perhaps it’s the late hour – more likely it’s the bowl of wine I had earlier – but I feel a surge of overwhelming power as I see the reverence and respect in their eyes. They fall to their knees once again with exclamations of devotion on their tongues. As someone who grew up being ignored and tolerated, it feels beyond amazing to be on the receiving end of worship.

I punch Tulio’s shoulder lightly, “Who wouldn’t?”

Tulio blinks at the spot on his arm where my fist landed, and looks back up at my face with a wrinkled brow.

“Why would you do that?” he asks slowly.

I don’t answer.

After that it doesn’t take long for me to lose what little control I had over the situation. Once we put our feet back on the ground it only takes a moment of distraction and Tulio has vanished. I groan and search through the crowds but do not see him. I know he’s going to drink, and drink _a lot,_ and I cringe as I think of all the horrible things that could come out of his mouth. Is this how Tulio felt back in Spain _all the time?_ I make a mental note to ask him about it if he ever…

I stop my train of thought before it becomes too painful to think about.

I return to the refreshment table, hoping to find Tulio. Perhaps he had come back here for a pit stop or for more wine and I can intercept him. Instead, all I find is my valiant white stallion burying his face in the infamous bowl of lilac alcohol.

“Altivo!” I pull his face out of the bowl and groan as I see droopy lids and unfocused brown eyes. “I can’t handle _you_ drinking as well.”

I feel a light hand on my shoulder, and I turn, hoping to see my partner, but instead I see slanted brown eyes and incredibly curvy hips. My immediate reaction is distaste, but I swallow it down and let her speak.

“Lord Miguel,” Chel asks, pointing behind her, “is Lord Tulio okay?” I look at where she is indicating and my eyes grow wide.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

There he is, standing on top of a large boulder, his limbs flailing in what I assume he thinks is dancing. He’s singing at the top of his lungs, and waving his arms about haphazardly. In one hand, he’s holding a cup of what can only contain the dreaded purple wine. His headdress has disappeared completely and his clothing is disheveled. I pray to whatever deities may actually be listening that he’ll still have on clothing by the time the night ends.

_“¡Es genial ser un Dios!”_ he sings.

“Oh—right, um, well, Lord Tulio is speaking in a, um…heavenly tongue.”

Chel raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And I’m guessing that’s why he’s flopping around like a fish out of water?”

“Um…heavenly dance?” My response is weak, and I can tell from her raised eyebrow and amused expression that she’s not even close to believing me. That’s when I know I’m way out of my league here. _Tulio_ is the one who comes up with the plans. _Tulio_ is the one who spends a majority of his time keeping me out of trouble, and it’s _Tulio_ who normally fails in doing so. I simply wasn’t made to take care of the both of us.

Chel tugs on the end of my robes and leads me away from the large mass of people. It’s darker in this corner and much more quiet, and we’ll be able to talk freely. She glances over her shoulder a couple times before turning to face me, and when she does it’s with a smirk. The shadows around us shroud her face in darkness, but that doesn’t stop me from catching the spark of mischief in her brown eyes.

“So, are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to force a confession?” she asks, crossing her arms. The words make me nervous. What does she mean by ‘ _force_ a confession’?

“T-Tell you?”

“Hon, you may have fooled a lot of people, but there’s only so much a girl can dismiss.”

“You…you _know?_ ” Her grin answers my question better than her words ever could. “How?”

She doesn’t say anything, just lifts my chin until I’m looking back up at Tulio. He’s taken out the ribbon that holds his hair back and is staring at it like he’s expecting it to fly away.

“Oh.”

“Doesn’t take a genius, honey.”

Suddenly I’m caught between a crossroads with this woman. Her far too revealing clothing and sashaying hips make me nervous with her around Tulio, but she’s the only one around here who seems to have a grasp on anything. Her clever brown eyes reflect her wit, giving me a strange sense of familiarity. There’s something about her that reminds me of Tulio, and there’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to lose that. Not again.

I just hope she doesn’t make a habit of treating me like I’m five. I usually feel incredibly stupid around witty people for exactly that reason. Tulio being the exception of course, because he only _thinks_ he’s witty.

However, I know that if Tulio and I are ever going to survive, I’m going to require some serious assistance.

“Okay, I need your help.” If the triumphant expression that spreads across her face is any indication, that’s precisely what she’s been hoping I’d say.

“I know ya do,” she says with a wink. She slings her arm around me amicably. “And when you boys leave, you’re taking me with you.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agree quickly. It’s a small price to pay for the advice she’s bound to give.

“ _¡Me siento tan poderoso!_ ” Tulio shouts. He flexes his muscles and takes a step forward, slipping from the top of the boulder. I wince as he tumbles and lands on his back, but my worry dissipates when he sits up laughing his head off.

God knows I’m going to need as much of it as I can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> It’s great to be a god!  
> I feel so powerful!


	3. Chapter 3

**~Tulio~**

            _I_ _t’s difficult to see, like staring into a pool of dark murky water. If confusion could take material form, this would be spot-on. There are faint outlines and shapes but nothing concrete.  If I really concentrate, I can see the barest silhouette of what appears to be a person; a man, with broad shoulders and long dark hair. He has gray eyes—but…wait, how do I know that? He’s facing away from me, walking in the opposite direction._

_Why do I so desperately want him to turn around?_

_I want to call out, to run after him and make him turn towards me. But the darkness is closing in, and I can’t breathe. I can’t—_

_…_

            My eyes snap open and I take a moment to try and compose myself. My chest is heaving hysterically, and a thin sheet of cold sweat covers my skin. My mind wanders to my dream, and I shiver uncontrollably. I don’t recall what happened, just that I didn’t like it. For a brief moment, I’m terrified that I’m still trapped in the darkness, but as my eyes adjust to the black I begin to see the outline of various shapes littering the room. I blink several times to be sure I’m seeing things correctly.

            I’m in a temple. A temple filled to the brim with luxuries beyond comprehension. I don’t recall being here. In fact, I don’t recall being _anywhere._

            Who am I, again?

            Then the memories of the previous evening burst through my mind like a tidal wave. _Tulio. That’s right. I’m Lord Tulio—a god._ I shift my eyes to my right to see Lord Miguel nestled in a massive bundle of blankets, a content expression on his face as he dreams.

My head is pounding, but this time when I press my knuckles to my temple it reduces the pain by a wide margin.

            Honestly, there isn’t much about yesterday that locks into place. I remember there was loud music and many bright obnoxious colors. I can practically feel the cool night breeze on my skin and smell the sweet scent of indigenous flowers and citrus fruit.

            Also wine, there was a _lot_ of wine.

            But there isn’t much that is specific or concrete. I recall seeing Lord Miguel quite a lot. He must have stuck by my side throughout most of the night. His hair is spilling out over his pillow messily, and he’s clutching the blankets close to his heart like he doesn’t want to let go. His mouth is gaping open and staining the cloth with his drool, and there are deep bags beneath his bags. He looks like a complete and utter mess.

            So why is it so hard to look away?

            I glance out of the windows to see a newborn light just barely grazing the edge of Earth; a pale innocent light that can hardly even penetrate the night. And it feels fresh, like turning to a blank page and knowing that you can make your own story, decide your own fate. I feel like a giant weight is being lifted from my shoulders at the thought.

            But the weight soon returns when I hear the low snoring of the blond next to me. When the sun rises, it hasn’t forgotten everyday its lit up the world, and it certainly has not forgotten the moon.

            Which just begs the question: Why have I?

 

            _“To commemorate your arrival, I propose a reverent ceremony at dawn.”_

            

The High Priest’s voice dances through my head out of the blue. Dawn is approaching, and if the mortal keeps his word then he should be here any moment. Lord Miguel is in no shape to present himself. I nudge his shoulder lightly in an effort to wake him from his slumber.

            “Hey,” I whisper. “You need to get ready.”

            The blond snorts in protest and curls tighter into a ball, rubbing his face against his blanket. “Go away,” he says, his voice muffled from behind the cloth.

            A laugh huffs from between my lips. I grab the edge of his blanket and pull it out from under him, causing him to tumble out of bed and lay in a jumbled heap on the temple floor. He yelps and jerks up, his hair skewed in all directions. Lord Miguel glares at me maliciously, but whatever malignant effect he may have been going for is completely overshadowed by how adorable he looks when he pouts.

            “Not fair, Tulio.”

            I shrug, folding the blanket into a neat square. “ _Fair_ didn’t wake you up.”

            “Oh yeah?” Miguel asks, attempting to hold back a grin. “Well, this will.”

            “Wha—”

            He lunges for me then and tackles me to the ground, cutting me off. The fabric slips from my fingers and falls to the floor with a dull thud. I gasp in both shock and pain as my shoulder slams into the solid floor. But that’s not what has my attention.

            Lord Miguel is sitting on me, a triumphant smile plastered across his face. Strands of his blond hair stick out unevenly, and his purple and red robe is disheveled from sleep. His green eyes, though baggy, are shining brightly. He has my shoulders pinned to the floor, and he’s staring at me mischievously.

            “That was entirely t—” He cuts me off again, this time by slamming his lips against mine.

_Wait, what?_

            For a brief moment my body freezes in shock, and I blink quickly in an attempt to figure out what is happening. My fingers twitch with an oddly familiar desire to return the kiss, but my mind screams in protest at the crude act. Is this a common practice between gods? I’m unsure of how I feel about it. Lord Miguel pulls back after a few seconds and stares at me, one eyebrow rising slowly.

            “What’s wrong?”

            I think of several answers all at once. There’s a familiar tug that seems to beckon me closer, that urges me to close the small distance between us. I don’t know where it came from, but I do know that I’d rather appreciate it if it went away.

            “We must prepare ourselves for the ceremony.” My voice cracks as I softly push him off of me. Lord Miguel appears hurt for a moment, but his expression quickly turns coy, like he believes this to just be a challenge. He bats his eyelashes a few times as if trying to convince me to change my mind.

            I can pinpoint the exact moment his heart clenches in realization.

            Lord Miguel green eyes flit around the temple as if he is just now noticing his surroundings. He looks down at his attire and picks at the garb awkwardly. “Right.” He clears his throat. “I forgot.”

            The blond stands and takes a deep breath before traveling to the opposite side of the room in search of the pieces of his missing outfit. I stare at him as he picks up a golden bracelet and attaches it to his wrist. He fumbles with it as he attempts to close the latch with a shaky hand before eventually chucking it aside with a frustrated grunt. He runs a hand through his hair to hide the stray tresses and straightens his robes. I can tell he is struggling not to glance in my direction.

            I pet my lips slowly as I stand, searching the room for my headdress. My old clothing sits folded on a nearby table next to my jewelry, but my headdress is nowhere to be seen. I want to ask Lord Miguel where it is. In fact, I have a great many questions for him. However, as I glance at him again and see him staring at a wall with an expression of utter exasperation, I decide it best to save any inquiries for a later time. I push the issue to the back of my mind, trying to forget the ordeal ever happened.

            I snap the golden jewelry into place, admiring the smooth texture and beautiful designs. I try and straighten my wrinkled green robes, but after several minutes I can tell it’s futile. Apparently my godly powers do not include fabric smoothing. My dark curls fall in my face as I work, and I blow them back several times before standing straight and pulling them behind my head. My eyes flit around the room in a desperate search for the ribbon that had held my hair back yesterday, but it is more hopeless a search than for my headdress.

            “My Lords?”

            Tzekel-Kan’s voice breaks the heavy silence and shocks me into releasing my hair. He peers into the temple uncertainly through a small curtain, and his eyes light up when he sees the two of us already awake. He is wearing an exquisite ornament on his head in the form of a skull with golden arcs.

            “My Lords, the preparations are complete. We await your esteemed arrival.” He takes a few steps into the temple and bows low to the ground. Lord Miguel jumps to his feet and coughs into his hand before nodding stiffly.

            “Yes, of course. We’ll, uh, be with you momentarily.” Tzekel-Kan backs out of the temple with a nod, his necklace clanging loudly as he does so.

            “Well, we better go out there,” Lord Miguel says, his voice low and cold.

            “Yeah.”

            I follow him out onto a platform that overlooks the entire city. The High Priest stands at the edge, staring back at the entrance waiting for us to emerge. The Chief is off to the side with heavy disgruntlement shadowing his features. Servants litter the area, rushing about with this or that. It seems as though the entire city has congregated in the stands, and they swathe the area with their cheers of devotion.

            As soon as the breaking dawn’s light finds its way to my eyes, I swear it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. Pain blossoms over my head quickly and without mercy causing me to whine pitifully as I attempt to hold it in. The shouting and cheers only add to my misery, and I cover my eyes with my hand in an attempt to hide the light.

            “You all right?” Lord Miguel asks in a hushed tone.

            “Head. Hurts.” Another wave of pain pulses behind my retinas. “ _Badly._ ”

            “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have had so much to drink last night.” I lift my hand momentarily to glare at him, hoping my malicious glare is more effective than his.

            “I’m a _god._ I didn’t think it _mattered._ ”

            Lord Miguel doesn’t respond, but I think I see the faintest of smirks on his face.

            “ _The gods have arrived!_ ” The High Priest’s voice rings out over the entire pavilion, and I try desperately not to wince. Why had I not felt this headache so badly in the temple?

_Because it was dark, and there was something far more entertaining to focus your attention on._

            I swallow hard to force down the lump that has formed in my throat.

            The native woman suddenly comes into view, spreading flowers across the platform from a large bowl. I struggle as I try and remember her name, but my headache and fact that I only heard it once are making the endeavor difficult. She is just as beautiful now as she was the last time I saw her; her gorgeous raven hair flowing over her shoulders like a waterfall, her skin as clear as the open sky.

            “ _Cheeel…?_ ” Lord Miguel whispers. His face claims he is calm and collected, but his strained voice tells a different tale. Chel glances at us over her shoulder and shakes her head quickly.

            “Leave me out of this.” She’s fighting so hard to sound determined and resolute that the three of us pretend we don’t hear her voice crack. She turns away from us and lowers herself to her knees, staring forward blankly. Lord Miguel’s face grows pale, and he blinks rapidly as he tries to process her words.

            “You…You said you would…” he trails off, shaking his head and looking away. I glance back and forth between them rapidly, vaguely wondering what had occurred between them.

            “This city has been granted a great blessing, and what have we done to show our gratitude? A meager _celebration?_ ” Tzekel-Kan shouts, “The gods deserve a proper tribute!”

            Servants bring out a large bag decorated with blue ribbons and flowers. They place it in front of Tzekel-Kan and quickly move out of his way. The High Priest raises his hands above his head and begins to shout again.

            “The beginning of a new era, the dawning of a new age demands…” Wind swirls around him and causes his hair and clothes to sway. The bag ripples and emits a ghoulish green glow. The entire scene has turned haunting and mystifying, and my attention is captivated by the man’s magic. The ribbons turn red and twirl in the air before coming undone. The bag dissipates to reveal a man. He is hunched over with his arms crossed over his chest, he head bent at a low angle. “…sacrifice.”

            My first thought when I see the offering is not glee or mirth. It is not a bloodthirsty urge to rip him limb from limb. It is simply:

_Why was he in a bag?_

            However, the High Priest’s words soon catch up to me, and my breath catches in my throat at the meaning.

_Sacrifice._

            The idea of someone dying for me is overwhelming and terrifying. I am reminded of the day before, when I had saved the mortal woman Chel, and the same surge of integrity wells in my chest. I’m about to shout out and stop this injustice when a thought suddenly occurs to me.

 _What if I_ need _this?_

            I press my fingers to my temple almost subconsciously as I try to think. Perhaps my memory loss and pain are because I’m not strong enough. Maybe I’m so confused because I haven’t had a proper meal in a long time. Gods devour souls, right?

            What if this man’s death returns my memories?

            So I close my mouth, and swallow down whatever words I was going to say. My eyes follow Tzekel-Kan as he lifts the mortal into a standing position, uneasiness stirring in the pits of my stomach.

             “Oh my _god_.” Lord Miguel whispers in horror. His tone confuses me, so I turn to look at him over my shoulder.

            “Don’t you want the tribute?” A small gasp forces its way from his mouth, and his green eyes widen with horror.

            “ _What?_ No. Tulio, _no!”_ He gestures madly back and forth between the two of us. “ _We_ do not want this tribute!”

            I glance forlornly at the man, watching as Tzekel-Kan raises his weapon in preparation to send the sacrifice to the swirling pits below. If my queasiness is any indication, I can understand how Lord Miguel feels just fine. However, as my eyes fall upon the man cowering on the edge of the cliff, and I think about the possibility of recovering what I’ve lost, I realize one outweighs the other by a fair margin. I shake my head at Lord Miguel, crossing my arms.

            “No, _you_ don’t want this tribute.” For a moment, Lord Miguel looks completely shocked. However, I’ve stopped caring about saying the wrong thing. It doesn’t matter what I say because, as a god, I can’t really say anything wrong. Lord Miguel’s face turns cold after a moment, and he shakes his head in disgust.

            “You really have changed.” Before I can process his words, Lord Miguel turns away from me and raises his arms. “ _Stop!_ ”

            I hold out an arm as if it’s an attempt to hold him back, but a gut feeling from somewhere deep inside tells me that, no matter what I do, I won’t be able to restrain him. Tzekel-Kan pulls his arms back at the last second to avoid striking the servant beneath him. All the magic that was once flowing around him vaporizes like it was never there, and the wind that had once blown stills, leaving his hair a disheveled mess. Lord Miguel walks straight up to his face and jabs a finger at his chest.

            “You can’t kill this man!” Tzekel-Kan looks stunned, but not ashamed.

            “Is there a problem with this tribute?” he asks slowly. His small brown eyes shift between the sacrifice beside him and Lord Miguel. Finally, they land on me in a silent plea for help. Sighing, I approach Lord Miguel from behind.

            “‘Is there a _problem?’_ How abo _—mmmmmf…”_ I walk up behind Lord Miguel and cup my hand around his mouth, pulling him back away from the High Priest.

            “It’s fine. Go ahead,” I urge him. The words come out of my mouth, but I don’t recall giving them permission to. _Is_ there really no problem with all this?

            Or have I just made a horrible mistake?

            Tzekel-Kan blinks uncertainly, yet begins to turn back towards the sacrifice. When Lord Miguel sees this, he jerks his legs in a wild attempt to free himself.

            “ _Mmf!_ ”

            Tzekel-Kan glances at me over the shoulder again, and when I nod he doesn’t hesitate to bring the sword above his head once more. Miguel suddenly digs his elbow into my stomach, and I groan in protest.

            “ _No!_ ” he shouts.

            Lord Miguel breaks free from my grasp and lunges for Tzekel-Kan’s wrist, capturing it between his hands and yanking it backwards. In an effort to regain his balance, Tzekel-Kan pulls forward, ripping his arm from Lord Miguel’s grasp. The High Priest’s weapon is flung from either’s grip and is sent spiraling towards the bubbling whirlpool below.

            “ _My Lord!_ ” The High Priest sputters indignantly. His eyes are wild and angry, and I can tell he is trying to keep his cool. Lord Miguel stares at his hands as if realizing what he has just done, his gaze shifting between me and Tzekel-Kan.

            “Uhm…”

            A silence settles over the arena as everyone waits for Lord Miguel’s next words. It feels like the very atmosphere sits with bated breath. Even the birds have stopped crowing. Lord Miguel begins to fidget uncomfortably, and I realize that even he himself can’t explain his actions.

            “We do not want this tribute.”

            I blink in surprise as I realize that the voice doesn’t belong to Lord Miguel; it belongs to me. The look Lord Miguel sends my way is mostly confused, but it is laced with enough relief to make me certain I’ve done the right thing. It’s the High Priest’s turn to look flustered, and he stands there speechless for several tense heartbeats. The tribute falls to his knees and breaks the High Priest out of his daze.

            “I am afraid I do not understand…” the High Priest trails off.

            “Well…” I glance at Lord Miguel as he picks up the unconscious man and drags him off to the side. “I—I mean look at him. He’s so weak.”

            “I have other tributes.” The High Priest takes on a tone of desperation, and I purse my lips. It's almost inaudible, but there's a small gasp behind me. I try to think about who it may have come from, but I don’t have time to ponder it.

            “Don’t bother,” I don’t give a reason why he shouldn’t; I can’t possibly need one…or think of one.

            “My Lords,” the Chief cuts in then, stepping into my line of vision in an effort to capture my attention. “May the people of El Dorado offer you our tribute.” I must admit, Chief Tannabok had become all but forgotten; however, now that I turn to look at him, I see an arrogant smirk on his face that he’s not even attempting to hide. Emerging from the temple are many women carrying basin after basin filled to the brim with golden trinkets.

            I want to deny them. What on Earth are we going to do with gold in the literal _City of Gold?_ But there is just something about the way they catch the sun’s rays that causes my heart to beat faster and my toes to curl. My fingers begin to feel especially sticky as the women draw closer and closer to us, and all I want to do is run towards them and take all the precious metal in my arms. This is considerably better than my previous feelings of guilt and despair.

            “My Lords, does this please you?” The question is an easy one to answer. Yes. _Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes._

            “Very well.” I don’t want them to think I care _too_ much.

            “Much better.” Lord Miguel sighs in relief. I’m glad that, for once, we can agree on something.

            “The gods have chosen!” Chief Tannabok gives a pointed glance at the High Priest before turning back to us. “To Xibalba?”

 _Touche Balba?_ I’m not sure what it means. I look to Lord Miguel, wondering what he thinks. He shrugs, as if he could care less, and I turn back to the Chief.

            “To Xibalba!” I exclaim.

            I don’t hear Chel groaning in exasperation, I don’t see the jealous glare of the High Priest, and I don’t notice that Lord Miguel’s blond hair glows just as brightly as the gold. All I can possibly think about at the moment is that all the beautiful shiny trinkets are being thrown over our heads and into the swirling pits of Xibalba.

_Wait. No, what?_

            “Lord Miguel…?” I whine pitifully. But the blond doesn’t seem to hear me; he is gazing at the gold with a faraway glaze in his eyes.

            “He’s going to kill me,” he whispers. 

            I want to turn around and demand that the Chief stop this cruelty, but I realize that I _told_ him to do this, and changing my mind at this point may sound weak. I watch as all the beautiful gold descends into the rapids below, and far, far from my reach.

           Chel approaches us, a look of disdain on her face. Her critical expression says a lot before her actual words do. 

           "The _S_ _pirit World_?  _Really?_ "

           Lord Miguel gives her a pitiful look. "Help."

           Chel sighs. "I've got it." She then slips away and the exchange is forgotten in loo of watching more of my precious gold disappear.

            The gold continues to fall until there are only a small number of woman left with basins. The window of time to stop this is swiftly disappearing, yet as more time passes, the more my resolve crumbles.

            “ _Stop!_ ”

            This time, the shout came from the Chief himself. I vaguely wonder how many times someone is going to shout that word. I look over my shoulder to see the robust man standing there with his arms raised, and Chel standing next to him, looking extremely pleased with herself.

            “They wish to bask! Take the tribute to the gods’ temple!”

            The few remaining women return to the temple, carrying what appears to be just five buckets of gold. Such a small tribute, but as I glance down at the churning torrents of Xibalba, I realize we may not have lost any of it. After all, we’re from the Spirit World, right?

            “Thanks,” Lord Miguel whispers. I turn to see him standing next to Chel; a smirk spreads across her face at his words.

            “Don’t want you boys losing all our gold, now do we?” Lord Miguel huffs laughter and shakes his head, not bothering to reply. I follow the two of them back towards the temple, glancing over my shoulder with only one thought crossing my mind.

_It’s tough to be a god._


	4. Chapter 4

 

**~Miguel~**

When Tulio and I landed on the beach several weeks ago, starving and weak from fatigue, to say I wasn’t thinking straight is an understatement. Thanks to one part delirium and one part recklessness, Tulio and I found ourselves blazing through the jungle on the search for the Legendary City of Gold. I was so excited that I could hardly contain myself. At the time, nothing had ever seemed so important—so _necessary_ to my survival.

If I could go back right now, I’d rip the map in half and jump back into that boat with my partner. Anything we would have faced out in the middle of the sea would have been far less terrifying and difficult than this. At least we would have been together in the ocean.

Here, I’m all alone.

Of course, I use the term lightly. The hundreds of people surrounding us right now, chanting our names and shouting their devotion as we are carried down the street in a giant float, actually make me feel a little crowded. You know, in a good way. It’s just that right now, inside the float where it’s just the two of us, I’ve never felt so lonely.

Okay, I’m probably just overthinking this. I know that the person sitting next to me is Tulio—the real Tulio. Just because he looks and acts different doesn’t change the fact that, somewhere deep inside, my partner is buried. I just don’t know how to reach him, or if I even can.

Distinguishing between the two of them is difficult. The name Tulio is beginning to remind me of two separate entities. I glance at _Lord_ Tulio out of the corner of my eye and that’s exactly what I see: a god of El Dorado. Not my partner in crime from the hard streets of Spain. This man wears the bright eccentric colors of El Dorado and has an unfamiliar sparkle of adventure in his eye. I feel a twinge of irritation. Being the annoying idealist is _my_ job. Then I immediately feel guilty. I know it’s not his fault, but the entire situation has just spiraled out of control.

Tulio shakes his head to allow his hair to loosen out, but then has to brush the curls out of his eyes. That’s perhaps the most jolting change. My Tulio hated it whenever his hair was down.

Is that what I’m going to start calling him now? My Tulio? Does such a notion even exist anymore?

“So…this is some fiesta, am I right?” I say in an attempt to break the ice. Tulio gives me a strange look out of the corner of his eye.

“What?”

“You know, fiesta. Party? …No?” Tulio’s blank stare makes me sigh. It appears that, although Tulio could speak the language better than an angry Spanish grandmother the night before, his current state doesn’t allow any such translation to take place. “Nevermind. It’s just Sp—it’s just Xibalban.”

“Oh. You know, that reminds me…we’re from the spirit world, right? What’s it like?”

“It’s…well…” I run a hand through my hair as I think of a way to respond. I don’t enjoy blatantly lying to Tulio so often, especially since he’s so lost. The thought that I’m indulging his delusion rather than helping him makes my heart clench in guilt. “It’s, um, big. So big it would take years to travel it all. It looks very different than this.”

Tulio’s eyes are trained on me as he intently focuses on my words. It’s like he’s soaking up everything I say to fill what must be a large gaping hole. The last thing I want to do is bury his past in a lie.

So, I won’t.

“It has smaller buildings, and most of them are white. The people are kind of dull, but there are a few interesting ones walking about. Some of them wear shining metal clothes and carry fire sticks that can kill anything, and some of them walk around in normal clothing and do chores all day. They’re the slaves. If they do something out of line, the fire stick men will go after them and punish them. Most everyone looks out for themselves…but I knew one or two that had each other’s backs…” I find myself describing Spain the way I remember it. In comparison, El Dorado really is like Heaven.

But that doesn’t mean we get to stay.

The realization dawns on me. If I can get Tulio home, then maybe, just maybe, he’ll see something there that reawakens the real Tulio. It may be the smell of fish and smoke, or the sound of guns being fired and men shouting from the harbor, perhaps just the atmosphere of being home. Whatever it is, he won’t find it here. So far, El Dorado has had a nasty habit of stifling the real Tulio. Besides, I know that either way Tulio will have wanted to go back. After all, that was the plan. We just hit a bump along the way is all. Nothing we haven’t handled in the past.

Tulio’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “What else?”

“Um,” The question gives me pause. If I’m going to get Tulio to leave El Dorado, he’s going to have to believe we’re going to Xibalba. I doubt he’d be especially keen on leaving his people if he thought we were going anywhere else. It’s the only feasible way I can think of. I fidget with my robes. “It’s hard to describe. You would have to see it for yourself.” I never realized just how much I missed Tulio rolling his eyes at me.

“Fine. There’s something that’s been bothering me though,” he comments, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “if I’m a god, how did I lose my memory?”

“Uh…” Did Tulio feel like this all the time? Whenever I improvised our way out of a situation it was almost always bounced off of Tulio. My partner’s stress suddenly seems much more understandable. “That’s…the test?”

"Test?”

“Yes? It’s, uh, tied to our mission.”

"You mean the super vague and confusing one I still don’t understand?”

“Yeah, that one,” I take a moment to choose my next words, “and it’s going to be huge and grand. It’ll change the lives of everyone who lives here for all time, and they’ll sing hymns of your valor for all eternity.” It’s only after I say it that I realize it would have been better to keep my mouth shut.

Tulio’s eyes widen slowly as he goes over what I just said in his mind. His expression soon changes from that of contemplation to concern.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Well, if I was allowed to _tell_ you, it wouldn’t be called a _test_ , would it?”

“Well played.” That earns a laugh. A tense one, but a laugh nonetheless. I look at Tulio out of the corner of my eye and see him reclining against some pillows, a contented expression donning his face. If I’m going to get Tulio out of El Dorado and back to Spain, he’s going to have to perform a deed of great valor—whatever that means.

But first things first, I’m going to need a boat.

______________________________________________________________________________

           

“A boat.”

“Yep.”

Okay, so even I can admit that I should have come here with more of a game plan than: _I need a boat._ Chief Tannabok is sitting across from me, an unreadable expression on his face. He’s seated on an over-the-top throne, fingers curling in on the arms of his chair. I’m accommodated on an incredibly comfy sofa, situated between three lavish pillows, yet I still hang on the edge of my seat, not comfortable enough with the situation to lean back and try to enjoy myself, but motivated enough not to run outside and try and swim back to Spain with my bare hands.

The plans were always Tulio’s region. I just pulled them together. Tulio took the time and effort to think through every possibility. He thought about the consequences of our actions, often warning me what to do and what not to do. If he had enough time, he’d sometimes create a plan so detailed our actions would be scheduled precisely to the minute. Though more often than not they were rushed and flawed with so many loop-holes and faults they seemed like the ravings of a mad man. Those were always the ones I loved the most, because those were the ones that most often worked. When you’re under the pressure of the clock, it’s easy to make mistakes. When they are no mistakes that can be made (or that haven’t been pointed out) it’s much simpler to do your job. It was all too complicated for me, but he could always think of a way out of or into any situation. But we both knew that a large majority of his plans would never work without my special little touch. Tulio shoveled the sand into a box, and I built the sand castle.

I can’t build castles without sand.

I glance around Chief Tannabok’s quarters casually as I try to think of why we have to leave. His room has a very mellow color scheme, mostly made up of soothing blues and warm yellows. Plants thrive in overhangs and give the room an overall sense of life. I decide I like it. It suits him.

“You’re leaving already? We expected you to be staying for another thousand years.” Chief Tannabok says after several tense moments of silence. His previously blank expression has shifted into something that resembles apprehension. His eyebrows furrow, and his eyes squint slightly as if he is confused, but I can see the concern embedded in his warm eyes. He honestly thinks something is wrong.

Well, I guess he’d be right.

“Uhhh, yeah, no, we aren’t staying that long. We really just decided to check in, you know, to see how things are going. And you guys are doing brilliantly, but, um, it’s about time we go back up home or the family will begin to worry.” I point a finger straight upwards, hoping that in this religion the gods’ home is in the sky and that for once I don’t look like a lunatic. The Chief raises an eyebrow, and for a moment I fear that I do, and that he’ll say something contradictory to my statement that rips my excuse into a million pieces. I rub the back of my neck where sweat has started to bead and grin weakly. Thankfully, he merely crosses his arms in contemplation.

“It’ll take about a week to build a boat glorious enough for the gods.” Why do I have the sinking feeling that if Tulio and I stay in El Dorado for that long we won’t be leaving in one piece?

“Oh. Wow. Okay. Seven days. Right. Um, we kind of told our friends we’d be back in a couple days. You know how it goes with the whole godly betting thing. It’s real popular nowadays.” Even I have to admit the longer I go on, the more pathetic I sound. I clear my throat. “…Anyhow, is there any possible way you could get us home sooner?”

“Well…” his face scrunches up in deliberation, and I suddenly realize how difficult this must be for him. He has to fit a week’s worth of work into a considerably shortened time. He must be thinking of all the people he’ll have to hire, probably how much to pay the native’s for their labor, and how to tell the citizen’s that their beloved idols are leaving. Oh well.

It’s nothing compared to how difficult it is for me.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be a big boat, just enough to hold three people and a little gold. Help me out.”

His reluctance is tangible. I’m sure that if I reach out, I’ll be able to grab a chunk of it from the very air. I swallow, staring intensely at the Chief. I don’t understand why I feel so nervous. Sure, in every scam there’s always that pit in the bottom of your stomach. The one that reminds you there’s a good chance that whatever you’re doing isn’t going to work out well for you. Normally, I ignore that feeling. It can be very restricting to improvisational skills to constantly be worried about what’s coming out of your mouth. However, for whatever reason, right now the pit refuses to be ignored. I can feel the anxiety practically clawing its way out my throat.

 He must somehow understand how much I’ve gone through just by looking at me. Something in his eyes changes when he meets my gaze, and the atmosphere softens considerably. He leans back in his chair and huffs a giant sigh.

“How about three days?” It’s still two days too long, which is far, _far_ too long. But I don’t want to push it. At this stage in the game, I’m lucky to have what I’ve got. I shrug and roll my eyes ever so slightly as if the idea doesn’t bother me in the least.

“Three days will work, I guess.”

“I apologize, Lord Miguel. But my hands are tied.” I hold in my sigh, forcing a small smile to stretch across my face. I finally allow myself to get comfortable and lean back into the couch, leaning against the firm pillows for support. I cross one leg over the other.

“No, no, it’s okay. Three days is fine.” But is it? Somehow, I feel like if Tulio were here we’d be leaving tomorrow at the latest.

It all comes back to the sand.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_This is bad. This is really, really bad._

I walk back to our temple slowly and deliberately, my thoughts weighing me down. We have barely managed to survive in the amount of time we’ve been here so far. I doubt that we can handle three more days. That’s a _lot_ of hours of me being in charge. I drag my hands down my face and take a deep breath.

“I’m fine. I can do this.”

Somehow the words don’t comfort me as much as they should.

I glance up to see our temple looming above us. Walking down the stairs is no trouble at all; however, walking up the steps is a different story entirely. By the time I reach the top, I’ll be panting and wheezing and too tired to think.

Oh well, one step at a time.

I had left Chel in charge of Tulio when I’d departed. I figured that bringing him with me wouldn’t have been a good idea, and I didn’t tell him where I was going. I’m sure he’s in good hands with her, but my legs still move faster than normal in my sudden haste to check on him. All I can see is Tulio kissing her knuckles like a gentleman. Chivalry is so… _unlike_ him.

Suddenly the term “good hands” doesn’t strike me as particularly _good_ anymore.

My chest is heaving as I reach the entrance to the temple. I take a moment to compose myself before brushing aside the curtains and walking inside. I don’t see Tulio right away, but Chel is reclining on the sofa in the middle of the room, popping green grapes into her mouth.

“Where’s Tulio?” I demand. Chel freezes for the briefest second, hand resting on top of the bowl of grapes. The moment passes in the span of a single blink and I’m left wondering if I only imagined it.

“He left. He might have been looking for you.” She says it as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if there’s nothing wrong with the fact that Tulio is currently out there doing God knows what.

This must be what madness feels like. I can feel it creeping up in the back of my mind, preparing to spring at any moment. Like it’s just waiting for the perfect moment to make me snap. I don’t like it.

“Why didn’t you go with him?” I ask. Chel laughs and looks at me, anything but amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"He’s an adult. He can take care of himself.”

I blink, mouth open as I try to think of an argument. I am just now realizing that Chel does not know Tulio like I do. That she has no reason to assume anything is wrong with him. For all she knows, Tulio has always been like this. I want to smack myself for having forgotten to tell her such an obvious thing. It seems Tulio isn’t the only one with the impaired memory here.

“Well…no, he can’t. Remember the party?” I remind her. She tosses the remaining grapes back into the bowl and stands up, turning to face me.

“Fine. He’s a _sober_ adult and can take care of himself. Why are you so worried?”

“Because…well…” When I see the look that passes across her face the words die in my throat; a look that I know so well I can recognize it in a heartbeat; a look that I’ve seen Tulio wear countless times and one that he doesn’t always try and hide. He wears it whenever I talk to anybody for longer than ten minutes, or when I get overly comfortable in a con. He always complains about it afterward even when I explain that it was all part of the act. It’s a look that I recall my face scrunching into when I saw Tulio and Chel together, and it’s a look that I now know I cannot stand seeing someone else have for Tulio.

Jealousy.

I don’t normally consider myself the jealous type. I usually love it when everyone just gets along. But Tulio had never given me a reason to be jealous before now, and as I stare at the gorgeous woman in front of me, her brown eyes trying to hide the truth behind her prying, I realize that maybe I’ve changed a little too. Chel is an accomplice in our con. She’s going to come with us to Spain, she’s going to get a small portion of the gold, and then we’re never going to talk to her again.

Maybe I’m overreacting, but at this point, I can’t avoid not to.

“Because Tulio doesn’t think. He doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s going to get us caught.” If the small spark of triumph in my chest is any indication, then Chel’s flustered expression is what I was going for. Anything is better than jealousy.

“Well, why don’t you go after him, then? We wouldn’t want to get caught, would we?” Chel points towards the opposite end of the temple from where I entered and I immediately begin strutting towards it, trying to ignore the small smirk that dons her features. I don’t miss the fact that she used the term “we” and I know that she knows that I noticed. For a moment I’m upset by her brazen assumption before I realize that we have a deal and _technically_ our duo is a trio.

For now.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I...did not plan this when I started writing this chapter. My bad.

**~Tulio~**

_A_ _flicker of something invades my senses and I pause in an effort to decipher it. It smells like a sweet citrus. Or, more specifically, oranges. The scent floats past me in an intoxicating puff, causing my brain to shut-down. Something about it is so familiar, but I just can’t place my finger on it. There’s something about them that causes my heart to flutter. I feel a bubble in my chest trying to break free like laughter you can’t hold back. It whispers a secret I can’t understand, and, before I can even try, the moment passes, leaving me to once again fall into the depths of confusion and loneliness._

_How could such a simple thing cause me to fall apart like that?_

…

            I place a hand on the temple wall for balance as my brain focuses back into reality. I close my eyes as frustration builds in my stomach. For the smallest of moments, I had been overwhelmed by the strangest sensation. It reminded me of something I left behind. I have no idea what it could possibly be, and I take a deep breath as the situation breaks upon me like a tide.

            I wake up with no memory of who I am only to find out I’m a god in a legendary city of gold. I have powers of mass destruction but no inkling on how to control them, and I have a companion who has all the answers but refuses to share them with me.

            Am I missing anything?

            Well, I’m definitely missing _something._ I feel so sure about what I am, only to be struck with doubt. Even though I have such a huge part of the puzzle solved, there’s still so much left to fill in. How can I be expected to do this all by myself?

            I’m a god. I’m Lord Tulio of El Dorado. They’ll sing hymns of my valor for all eternity. That’s who I am.

            Right?

I close my eyes as I remember the conversation with Lord Miguel in the float. An act of great valor. What is that supposed to mean? I rub my temples as I walk deeper into the temple, hoping to sit down on the couch and think about it. I don’t understand why he can’t just tell me what I’m supposed to do. If I can accomplish whatever task I’m meant to do without knowing it, I sure as hell can do it when I know what that job is.

            “Could you keep an eye on him for me?”

            Lord Miguel’s voice permeates the silence of the temple. I stop dead in my tracks as the meaning of his words catch up to me. I don’t know what it is that causes me to duck behind a pillar at the sound of it, but I’m glad that I have done so. I peer around the edge of the column and see him chatting with the native girl Chel. He’s standing in front of a mirror and preening his appearance; smoothing his robes and straightening his plumes. Chel is standing behind him, an exasperated look on her face.

            “Why?” Chel pipes up, stretching her arms above her head like she’s bored. I want to ask the same question. I don’t have to be watched like I’m some sort of infant. Lord Miguel stares at his reflection for a moment more before turning back around and shrugging.

            “I have to go do something. Just watch him for me, okay?” I hear Chel’s huff of indignation, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Lord Miguel smiles in thanks and backs away towards the stairs. When he is sure she’s not going to complain any further, he whirls around and vanishes down the steps, like he’s afraid if he dawdles he’ll have to convince her all over again.

            I suddenly feel unsafe. Lord Miguel is the only tie to my past, the only one who knows everything. Without him, I am truly and undeniably lost.

Where is he going? I’m almost tempted to follow him, regardless of the fact that he left me behind. In fact, all I’d have to do is distract Chel momentarily before I make my escape. My eyes flit around the room as I attempt to find a way to lure her away long enough for me to escape. Perhaps those grapes on the table nearby could help. I’m not sure how though. She doesn’t seem the type to follow a trail of grapes.

            “You can come out now.” My eyes snap to Chel and see her staring straight back at me. All ideas of escape immediately vanish from my mind and I clear my throat and step out from my hiding place, wondering why my palms feel so sweaty.

            “I can take care of myself,” I say immediately, knowing there’s no point in pretending I didn’t hear anything. Besides, I’m hoping to remind her that a god does not need a babysitter. “Just so you know.”

            “I know,” she states simply, not bothering to clarify. We sit in a tense silence for several heartbeats before she breaks it. “So who were you before you got here?”

            I stiffen, the atmosphere suddenly heating up more than is comfortable. The question is irrefutably nosy. It surprises me because she never struck me as the type; curious and intrusive, yes, but not snoopy. Her inquiry makes me swallow hard as I realize all over again how impossible it is for me to answer. Oh well, when you can’t answer you can always dodge. I take a deep breath and raise my eyebrows.

            “What kind of question is that?” She laughs softly and takes a step closer to me.

            “Well you don’t have to get all defensive about it.” She shrugs. “It was just a question.”

            “I’m not getting _defensive._ ” I protest. “It’s just strange to ask someone who they used to be instead of finding out who they are.” It’s not until the words come out of my mouth that I realize just how true they are. There’s really no point in prying into someone’s past. Someone’s past does not define who they are; I know it doesn’t define me. I can literally do whatever I want and no one can tell me I’m acting out of character.

            Chel crosses her arms tightly across her chest at my words, her eyes staring behind me. She looks like she’s trying to cave in and find refuge in herself. I’m clearly not the only one who is lost here. Suddenly she blinks and focuses her eyes back on me. She shakes her head microscopically and smirks again. She sidles closer to me until she’s just a few feet away, but I don’t miss the sudden damper in her energy.

            “Well that’s what I’m trying to do,” she drawls, “What is the great _Lord_ Tulio like?” She brushes her fingers through her long hair as she asks the question and I glance away, swallowing hard. The baton has been tossed to me, and she awaits my response. She thinks we’re playing, but I’m not in the mood for a game.

            “I, uh, don’t really know.” I say it because it’s true, but also because it’s the only answer I could ever give her. Even if I had known who I used to be, how is someone supposed to answer that question? Does anyone really know what they are like? When you get so caught up in your own fantasy of who you want to be, you can sometimes lose track of who you are. When someone asks you what you’re like, it can be difficult to separate the two. It’s a ridiculous question to begin with anyway. You can’t truly expect anyone to give an honest answer.

            “You’re not going to give me anything?” She sticks out her lower lip in a half-hearted pout. “Anything at all?”

            “Nope.” I wish I could tell her something about myself. I wish I could tell her all of my habits and problems. I want to be able to describe to her in the utmost detail how I came to be. I want to be able to use my own words to paint a picture of my home, and show her just who I am because I know myself that well. But who am I kidding really? Even if I had never lost my memories in the first place I wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. No one really can describe themselves quite like someone who has taken the time to get to know them. Just like your voice sounds different to yourself than it does to other people, your true character is known only to those who have been around long enough to memorize it. She’d be better off asking Lord Miguel. He knows me better than anyone at the moment. “What about you, then?” I manage to say, desperate not to talk about myself anymore. “What are you like?”

            “Sorry, honey,” she says, a smirk playing at her lips. “It’s a give and take process.”

            This one is very tricky.

            “I’m a god,” I reiterate. I try to ignore Chel rolling her eyes at me. The only thing I know for sure about myself is my divinity, and so that’s what I’m going to give her. She asked me what I was like, and that’s the closest thing to an answer she’s ever going to receive, because it’s the closest thing to an identity that I have.

            “That’s not exactly what I meant.” She’s beginning to get far too close for comfort. I take an unsteady step backwards and gulp when my back bumps into the pillar.

            “I’d be careful if I were you,” I warn her, glancing from side to side. “You shouldn’t make me angry.” I’m hoping that will finally put her in her place. The vague reminder that I have powers should be enough to get her imagination going. Instead, she just rolls her eyes again.

“Ooh right. Forgive me,” Something about her tone causes a flare of indignation to ignite in my chest. “I’m so scared now.”

            “If you’re going to pretend,” I mutter under my breath, “you could at least _try_ to act scared.” A small burst of laughter escapes her throat and I feel an eyebrow raise on its own. The comment wasn’t meant to be humorous. “What?”

            “If _you’re_ going to pretend, you could at least try to act like a god,” she counters.

            Silence.

            “What did you say?” I ask. She blinks uncertainly, as if she’s doesn’t understand what she did wrong.

            “What, you don’t _actually_ think you’re a god, do you?” As the phrase falls from her lips I’m reminded of what Lord Miguel had said to me just yesterday.

_You’re kidding me. Tulio, you’re not a god._

Why is everyone around here so convinced that I’m not a god? You’d think stopping a volcano with nothing but your voice would be more than enough proof for most people. A small idea begins to form in the back of my mind as I stare at Chel’s confused expression. She honestly believes that gods aren’t real.

I just need to prove her wrong.

            “If gods aren’t real, then how did I stop that volcano earlier?” I challenge her.

“If there’s one thing I do believe in, it’s luck.” She says quietly. I don’t respond, unable to think of any words to say. That must be my mission: to provide the nonbelievers who live here with faith. To finally make them believe that the gods are watching over them. And maybe, just maybe, doing my job will give me what I crave most.

But how am I supposed to do this? I don’t know anything about being a god. Perhaps that’s part of the test. I just have to believe that I’m a god, and it will be true. But I still can’t figure this out by myself. I am suddenly overcome with an urge to talk to Lord Miguel again. He knows what he’s doing; he should have advice for me.

            “Hold that thought. I’ll be back.” I have no idea where Lord Miguel has gone, but I’m sure if I ask around a bit it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. I head towards the first staircase I find and whirl around before I take the first step.

            “Stay right there. Don’t move.” I tell her. She falls down onto the couch with a sigh and grabs a nearby bowl of grapes.

            “Fine by me,” she murmurs, popping a green one into her mouth.

            Hm. Maybe she would follow a trail of grapes.

            I turn back towards the outside and stop dead in my tracks at the sight I behold. A blue-green sky melts into the skyline and fades into a rich yellow, accented with the purest white clouds. Vibrant green trees surround the earth and provide comforting scenery. The vegetation is spotted with various mini waterfalls, creating a calming soundtrack for the city along with the singing of the wildlife. The bright warm colors of El Dorado pull it all together, creating a vibrant display of paradise.

            It makes me wonder what Heaven looks like.

            I blink to get ahold of myself and descend the stairs, wondering how on Earth I’m going to find my companion in a city as large as this one.

            The streets are eerily quiet as I stroll down them. The entire city radiates an aura of pure joy, and yet it feels so quiet. The two don’t go together. One would expect to see children running around smiling as brightly as the sun. Instead, there’s nothing. It feels almost like a spell has been cast, freezing the world into a moment of silence. Everything is still and caught in its own infinity, waiting for the next moment to move on.

            “Hello?” I call out softly. I almost regret saying anything; it feels like the spell has been broken.

            There is no response, not that I had expected to receive one. I keep walking down the avenues, brushing my hands along stray leaves whose branches reach beyond the walls. I can hear the cool beating of the various small waterfalls, but other than that, nothing.

            There’s suddenly a quiet rustling in the leaves. I pause, not sure if it was the wind or something else entirely. I slowly turn my head in the direction of the incriminating sound just in time for the vegetation to explode as a beast charges from the leaves. I cry out in shock and hit the deck, waiting for the inevitable flash of pain to come.

I peer back at the streets when no such flash occurs. A small armadillo is playing in the streets, chasing a butterfly. I cough into my hands as I push myself to my feet, happy for the first time that no one was around to see that.

Deciding it best to ignore the animal, I keep walking, leaving the dumb thing behind me. I turn a corner slowly, eyes roaming over everything. Suddenly my eyes land on a man standing in the middle of the street. He’s facing away from me and a leopard skin hood is draped over his shoulders. He’s holding a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. I breathe a sigh of relief that I have finally found someone. The silence was beginning to drive me mad.

            “Hey you,” I call out. When he turns around, he reels back in shock at the sight of me. His face pales and his mouth gapes slightly as if he can’t find the words to say. I raise an eyebrow at the sight of him, but don’t comment on it.

            “Yes, my Lord?” he finally manages.

            “What happened to everyone?” The city is beautiful just by itself, but I want to see what it would look like the way it’s supposed to: full of life and echoing with laughter.

            “They’ve been cleared from the streets my Lord, so the city can be cleansed – as you ordered.”

            Order? What order? I don’t recall doing such a thing. He must be referring to Lord Miguel. Perhaps that’s why he left—to give this order. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of what ‘cleansed’ is supposed to mean.

            “As _I_ ordered?” I ask, causing him to blink rapidly.

            “Well, yes. Tzekel-Kan has told us your demands my Lord.”

            “And what, _exactly_ ,” I inquire slowly, “were my demands?”

            “That the Age of the Jaguar should begin, my Lord.” He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and then shrinks back when he realizes his tone of voice. But I don’t mind it; I just want to know what he’s talking about. Something about the way he said it sets off a spark of worry in the bottom of my stomach.

            “The Age of the Jaguar?”

            “Yes. When the sun was covered, Tzekel-Kan said that the gods would visit El Dorado and ‘purge the city of vice and sin’. That they would cleanse the city with blood and sacrifice.” The man trails off nervously and glances down at the ground. “He said that—”

            “Get back in! Where are you going?”

            The guard is cut off by the shout of another man. I look to my right sharply to see two warriors towering over a young man. His eyes are wide and his mouth is gaping open in silent shrieks of fear.

            “Move! Move!” they shout. They shove their spears in his face and the man shrinks back with a gasp. The sight causes me to grind my teeth. My fingernails dig in my palm as I clench my fists so tightly my knuckles turn white. I’m not even sure what it is that has me so angry about the entire affair, but when I see the poor man squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to watch I let out a small snort of disgust.

            “What’s going on?” I demand, turning back towards the guard. He looks at me and furrows his eyebrows as if once again he thinks I should already know the answer. He gives a small sigh and sends a disproving face towards the young man before responding.

            “Anyone who disobeys your orders must be punished,” he says. He looks back at me solemnly “It’s as you ordered.”

            This is all wrong. This wasn’t supposed to be my mission. I shake my head in denial. I never gave such an order, which leaves Lord Miguel. I think back to how adamantly against the sacrifice he had been and wonder how the same man ordered so much pain and destruction. Is this my destiny as a god? To bring about the Age of the Jaguar and flood the streets of this beautiful city with the blood of innocent men?

            Where’s the valor in that?

            I thought that my mission here was peaceful. I thought I had finally figured it out. I’m meant to bring faith to this city and help those who cannot help themselves. Lord Miguel said there was a test, and I thought I had finally determined what he meant by that. The test is the strength of my belief. I want to deliver faith to these people and see their faces light up as they realize that the gods here want what’s best for them.  These people are below me, but that doesn’t mean I want their blood pooling at my feet.

            Lord Miguel must have different plans then. It was naïve of me to assume otherwise I suppose.

            “No, no I would never say that.” My breaths become more and more shallow. “I don’t like it. Make them stop.”

            I say it because I have to make him understand it wasn’t me. I don’t want any of this. Though he may try to hide it, the guard can never fully disguise the fear written plain as day on his face. The people here are scared of me – of us – and now I know why.

            I’d be scared too, if I met the person destined to be my undoing.

            The guard hesitates, but he eventually takes in a breath to bark a command at the warriors. One of them freezes immediately and whirls around. When he sees me his reaction is similar to the guard’s pale face and wide eyes. However, the other warrior blatantly ignores the guard, continuing to jab his spear in the native’s face.

            “Hey!” I raise my hand in an automatic effort to gain his attention, but let it fall back to my side when I realize the guard is facing away from me. He still doesn’t move. Instead, he raises his spear high above his head in preparation for a piercing blow. “Stop!”

            Before I can think about it my legs are rushing towards the scene, sprinting to stop a crisis that should never have happened in the first place. As my bare feet slap against the stone pavement, all I can think is that I can’t bring about the Age of the Jaguar. I may be a god, but that doesn’t make me a murderer, it doesn’t make me a _monster._ The beginning of a better age for these people will begin with me saving this one person.     

My hands slam into the warrior’s shoulder, with more force behind the push than I had anticipated. The warrior obviously had not expected such a force and topples over with a cry of shock. I see what’s going to happen before it actually does, and I reach out my arm in an attempt to catch his wrist, but I’m too late.

            Far, far too late.                                

            There’s a sickening snap and the sound of tearing flesh as he falls upon the same spear he had almost used to harm someone else. The weapon splinters, sending small chards of wood everywhere. El Dorado is full of obnoxious colors, but the rest pale in comparison to the red pooling under the warrior’s body. The unmistakable copper scent fills my lungs and my throat closes in an effort not to gag. There’s a strangled cry, but I can’t tell if it is from the dying warrior or me. His body struggles for only a moment before it stills.

            The hush that envelops El Dorado is deafening. The birds stop chirping, the waterfalls stop roaring, the creatures stop breathing. Everything mutes in that one moment as comprehension takes over and no one is sure how to react.

            The silence doesn’t last long before the native I’d been trying to save makes eye contact with me, forcing himself to drag his eyes from the man who had just tried to kill him to the person who just spared his life. Neither of us moves for what feels like an eternity. I just keep staring into his big brown eyes, so full of a fear so strong he can’t control his shaking. He blinks and looks away, suddenly tripping over himself as he tries to run, knocking over a stand and falling back to the ground. He gets back to his feet in moments and keeps going, no longer looking back.

            The other warrior lets his spear slip from his fingers. The clatter it makes as it hits the ground seems to snap the man out of his shock. He backs away from me, his hands in front of him as if he’s warding me off. With one final glance at the dead body beside me he takes off in the opposite direction not far behind the fleeing native.

            “My Lord,” the guard who had just spoken with me whispers, his eyes wide in disbelief. He falls to his knees, weapons landing next to him audibly. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.”

            He should be running too. I take in a ragged breath as my hands slowly turn clammy. He should be fleeing, not worshipping. I take a step back from him, deciding that if he won’t run then I will. Without responding, I whirl around and take off, leaving the guard and his dead combatant behind me.

            My hair bounces behind me as the wind pushes it backwards. I run blindly, not knowing where I’m going and not especially caring. Somewhere in the back of my mind I vaguely wonder how I lost my memory the first time, and hope that somehow I’ll be able to do it again. My head is empty, full of less than twenty-four hours, and the scene replays in my mind over and over again. I just killed an innocent man.

            And this time I’ll never forget it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeeey I'm back. Sorry for the radio static. If you're lazy and you know it clap your hands

**~Miguel~**

It’s difficult to describe the knot that grows in your stomach when you know something has gone wrong. As a feeling that occurs on a constant basis in my line of work, I’ve gotten to know it very well, and I know that it always means something. I used to assume it was just a tool of the trade, but Tulio always swore that he never felt it. It reminds me of this one old guy I used to know when I was a child. He had claimed that his bones could predict the weather, and no matter what anyone else said his predictions were always right.

The worst part? It’s never been wrong for me before either.

My steps are hesitant as they lead me down the temple steps and across a deserted street. The city is hushed as usual, but now it feels like more than just that. It feels… _scared._ It’s not just quiet, it’s _silent._ My steps quicken in my sudden haste to find my partner and figure out what happened.

I stop by the small lake in the middle of the city that leads to the gate. Giant colorful fish swim underneath the clear water, and I watch them for a moment, completely captivated. It makes me wonder how hypnotized by this city I would become if I actually had a guide.

I suddenly hear a loud whinny to my left and I turn quickly, caught off guard. There’s Altivo, running towards me as fast as his legs can carry him and shaking his head about as if he’s possessed.

“Whoa, hey! Calm down, boy.” I grab his reins when he reaches me and pull his snout down close to my face. “Calm down, it’s all right.”

It takes him a little while, but when he has settled, he pulls at the restraint roughly. I glance over my shoulder once before letting go of his reins, hoping that wherever he takes me won’t be too far from Tulio.

I follow the white horse around several corners and walk down many streets before I finally catch sight of him. My partner’s hunched over on a bench that’s pressed up against the wall, his face buried in his hands. He’s sitting perfectly still, and the knot in my stomach intensifies dramatically as I approach him. Altivo jerks his head towards him, and I’m almost positive I’m not mistaking the tinge of sadness I see in the beast’s eyes.

“Tulio?” His head snaps up at the sound of my voice and my nose automatically curls at the sight of him. His eyes are hollow and sunken, staring at me but seeing nothing. His normally blue eyes look closer to gray than anything. His skin is pale like he’s about to be sick, and the thought causes me to take a step back. His curly black hair has turned completely unmanageable, and I’m reminded as to why he always kept it back: it frizzes when he runs. “Are you all right?”

He huffs a small laugh, but he doesn’t sound amused. “Not really,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What’d you do this time?” I ask. I plop down next to him and lean back, hoping that if I act like it’s no big deal, then he’ll feel the same. I’ve seen Tulio with this very same expression many times in the past, and it’s always been over something small. Normally he was either sick, drunk, or paranoid, but it had happened over other stuff too. It reminds me of when we were prisoners on Cortés’ ship, only this time he looks more… _haunted_.

“Lord Miguel, why didn’t you want to sacrifice that man this morning?”

He diverted the question. If I was dealing with the Old Tulio that would mean the situation was no big deal and he just didn’t feel like talking about it. But I’m not dealing with the Old Tulio anymore, I’m dealing with this New Tulio, someone who reflects the man I knew, but is nowhere close to being the same. Tulio was who he was because of what he’d gone through. Without those experiences I have no idea what to expect. That prospect is the most terrifying to me.

"Uh,” I hesitate, trying to think of any pros and cons to answering this question, “because killing is wrong?”

Tulio closes his eyes slowly, exhaling softly. “Of course it is.”

“Tulio…?” I don’t even know what I had planned on asking. His eyes slide back open and when he focuses his dull eyes on me my breath catches.

Now that I’m closer, I can see that his eyes are still blue. But they no longer hold the sparkle they used to have. Instead, they are dull and scared. I realize that this really isn’t Tulio at all. No matter what it is that he’d done, Tulio always kept fighting; he was strong like that. He didn’t let things get to him. This man looks so weak that I can hardly say I recognize him at all. The look in his eyes reminds me of only one time in the past that my partner has looked like this.

A long time ago, when we were only kids, Tulio lost his mother. It wasn’t long after I knew him, so he never wanted to talk about it to me. He refused to talk to anyone, really. He stopped eating and he never got enough sleep. Whenever we went to the marketplace he always made us give the fruit stalls a wide berth, as his mother had adored oranges and he claimed that if he had to smell them he’d be sick. He always had deep bags under his eyes too, so I knew he wasn’t sleeping. Before that point he’d been obnoxious and talkative, always finding his way into and out of trouble. Then afterwards, he was never quite the same. The spark did come back - it always did - he had just lost his sense of adventure.

Now, that spark has disappeared again, and this time I have no idea why.

“Why am I here, Lord Miguel?” he asks in a whisper. “Why are _we_ here?”

It’s that question again. He keeps asking it, and each time it gets more and more difficult to answer. I want to know why he’s so determined on knowing why we’re here. Why can’t he just accept what I’ve told him and try to figure it out on his own so I don’t have to think about it?

“I told you,” I begin, “it’s for the mis—”

“Stop dancing around the issue.” His voice sharpens and he raises his hands in agitation, leaving them to hang in midair. “Please, just tell me why I’m here.”

“Um,” I blink rapidly, my eyes flitting everywhere as if the response I’m searching for is hidden somewhere in the city. How am I supposed to tell him that I don’t know? “Well, um, we’re supposed to…to…er—”

"Forget it,” he interrupts with a sigh. “You’re just going to lie again.” He leans his head against the wall and stares straight up at the sky, his voice once again turning soft. “Besides, I think I’d rather not know.”

“What happened?” I ask, lowering my voice to a comforting murmur.

“I didn’t mean to.” Eyes growing wider, he turns to face me. “It was an accident.”

“You forgot to tell me what you did,” I remind him gently. I place my hand on his shoulder as a gesture of condolence but quickly pull it away when he flinches. He acts as though I’m here to hurt him, and I lean forward, suddenly concerned about what he might have done.

"Lord Miguel,” he says, “I killed someone.”

“You did _what?_ ” Okay, big deal. _Definitely_ a big deal. This is quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to him—I would know. I can only imagine how much worse it could have been if he had his memories. I have no doubt he’d be an even bigger mess.

“You heard me.” His voice turns cold, hostile, daring me to call him what he’s doubtless already called himself a thousand times—a monster.

“How did that happen? I—” I almost add that I had only left him alone for thirty minutes, but at this point I quickly decide it would be less than constructive.

“I—I don’t really know. It happened so fast. He was hurting someone else and I tried to stop him…and there was blood and then he…” Tulio trails off, swallowing hard. For a moment, we lapse into a heavy silence, neither of us looking at each other.

For as long as I’ve known him, Tulio has never been the morally righteous type. He’s a thief. A _conman._ The very word oozes with fraud and crime. However, murder has always been a touchy subject for him. Ever since his mother was killed, he’s been against the very idea.

I wish I knew how to explain to him that killing isn’t the same as murdering.

This would never have happened if Chel had done what I had asked her to. I _told_ her to watch him for just this reason. I know Tulio better than anyone, and when _I_ don’t even know what he’s going to do, that’s when you’ve got to be careful.

It’s now that I’m beginning to realize how ridiculous this all is. Here we are, in the Legendary City of Gold, a place most men can only _dream_ about going, and all we’re doing is moping over lost things. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that I have to squeeze into three days, and Tulio is going to experience it whether he likes it or not.

Besides, I can tell the last thing he needs is to dwell on it any longer.

“Come on,” I say, standing with a flourish, “we’re going for a walk.” Tulio looks up at me as if I’ve grown another head. I offer my hand down to him and he stares at it for a moment before taking it and standing himself.

“Thank you, L—” a strange expression comes across his face for a moment before he continues, “Thanks, Miguel.”

I swear I can feel my heart constricting and imploding in on itself. The way he said that made it seem—if only briefly—that he was never gone. I give him a smile in reply, trying not to let him know how it affected me. Perhaps Tulio isn’t as far away as he seems.

“Why, you’re very welcome, Tulio.”

He hasn’t released my hand, and as I drag him behind me in my pursuit of something enjoyable for us to remember, I realize that it would be impossible for me to let go of him again.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Nothing is happening.”

Tulio plucks a leaf off of a nearby tree and examines it for a moment before letting it float to the ground. The entire walk he’s been trailing behind and sulking, his shoulders slightly hunched and his eyes aimed at the ground. I had hoped that we would find _somebody_ out and about so that we could do something to take his mind off of it, but after traveling all throughout the city and encountering nothing, we’ve found ourselves on the edges of the city where thick walls of vegetation surround us like we’re caught in a hedge maze.

“That’s not _my_ fault,” I say with a laugh. It’s not until Tulio’s eyes darken that I realize how he must have taken my words. That the city is only empty because everyone’s hiding. I’ve spent the entire trip trying desperately not to mention it, and it seems that time after time I keep failing. I slap a hand over my mouth and shake my head. “That’s not what I meant,” I quickly clarify.

“I know it’s not. But it’s still true.”

“No, I’m sure that…” I trail off as my eyes go beyond Tulio’s head to see the leaves bristling behind him. Just between the leaves I can see a light brown, a color that isn’t part of El Dorado’s natural color scheme – unless you count the people, of course. As I’m staring, I see a pair of brown eyes peer between the vegetation, only to disappear when they see me looking.

“What are you looking at?” Tulio glances over his shoulder but apparently doesn’t see anything. He looks back at me, his eyebrows rising. I force my gaze back to Tulio and blink as I try and focus again.

“Um, nothing. Do me a favor, would you?” I ask.

"Uh, sure?” Mild fear alights in his eyes when he sees my expression.

“Great. Thanks.” Without further hesitation, I drag him to a large hedge and shove him inside of it.

“Ow, hey!” he cries out as twigs stab at his arm, but I shush him. I can hear him grumbling and muttering obscenities under his breath, but other than that he seems compliant enough. I take a step back and try to determine whether you can see him from outside the plant, and, when I am certain it can’t be done, I can’t suppress the grin the spreads across my face.

“Just trust me. And be quiet.”

I have a plan. A sort of, kind of half-plan. There are so many factors that could go wrong and much more that may be assumptions rather than truth, but I know that I have to at least give it a shot. I glance back at where I had seen the native, and this time I can see the pale pink color of their clothes. I step closer, trying to peer through the leaves. They really chose a good hiding spot.

“Hello?” I call out softly. I hear a small gasp and stop moving, knowing what they must be scared of. “It’s okay. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Those big brown eyes appear again, this time distrusting. Appraising me silently, their eyes move up and down my body. Eventually, they look past me as if they’re looking for something or some _one._

“Where is Lord Tulio?” The voice that comes from the plant is soft and sounds as though it belongs to a young girl. When I lean closer to hear her better I hear the leaves tremble as she flinches, and I quickly retreat back to my former position.

“Lord Tulio is gone. You can come out now,” I gently reassure her.

A pause. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I try to make my voice as warm and inviting as possible, and it must work. There’s another rustle as she pushes aside the leaves and emerges. She’s a young girl a bit on the small side. She’s wearing a standard pink dress that she looks entirely too uncomfortable in. Her hair is disheveled and there’s dirt smudged on her clothing. A small golden necklace lays daintily on her collarbone, and she fiddles with it nervously as she notices me staring. She smoothes down her dress, but when she sees she’s going to get nowhere with it she moves onto her hair, trying to disentangle a small twig that’s caught in a knot.

“What’s your name?” I ask, deciding to start simple.

“Itzaxoco-Kisa,” she replies steadily, sticking out her tongue in concentration as the stem becomes even more entwined in her dark locks.

“…Kisa it is. Why were you hiding?”

Her fingers pause in their work and she blinks slowly, heat rising to her cheeks. “I—I was…um…” she rocks back and forth on her feet and stares over my head, “playing?” I didn’t think it was possible, but I have finally met a worse liar than me. I hold back a chuckle as she furiously begins tugging at the stick, her lips twitching as every other tug ended in the softest snap of individual hairs.

"In a bush?”

“It’s called hide-and-seek, duh.” Her eyes widen considerably as she goes over her words in her head. Her cheeks grow even redder and her mouth opens and closes like a fish. “I’m sorry! I mean, um, _my Lord._ ” This time I don’t try to disguise my laugh, and I raise my hands to pull out the little nuisance in her hair.

“It’s fine. Call me Miguel, please.” She turns to face me as the twig comes loose, her eyes suddenly wide and serious.

“Oh, no,” she says, once again whispering, “I can’t do that.” She tries running her fingers through her hair to brush out the tangles, but at the first painful knot she winces and gives up.

I want to ask why she thinks that way, but I have a feeling the answer is obvious. Instead, I try and change my approach. Children are trickier to talk to than adults at times.

“Are you scared of Lord Tulio?” Straight and fast. Beating around the bush never got anyone anywhere. Kisa’s eyes grow even wider and she looks down, kicking a rock with her toe. I see her gulp and I know I’ve hit a mark.

“N—No,” she stammers, “but also yes.” She looks up at me, her eyes beginning to redden around the edges. “I don’t know anyone who’s not.” I glance at Tulio’s bush out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he can hear us. He probably can, we aren’t too far away. I can’t imagine how he must be taking this.

“There’s nothing to be scared of. He helped save the sacrifice this morning.” I remind her.

“Only because you wanted him to. That’s what Mama said.” Her eyes shift suddenly shift nervously and she takes a step back. “She also said Lord Tulio is dangerous. She said I shouldn’t go looking for him but I couldn’t help it.” She takes another step back, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip. “I had to know.”

“Know?” I ask. “Know what?”

“Itzaxoco-Kisa!” Kisa gasps and grabs my hand, hiding behind my legs.

“It’s Mama!” she cries, “Hide me!”

A robust woman in a light green dress comes hustling down a small set of stairs. She has a purple shawl spread over her shoulders and she’s huffing when she reaches us as if the few steps were tiring for her. She doubles over and takes in air in large gulps. “Itzaxoco, what were you thinking? You know we can’t leave.” When she stands upright and sees me her eyes widen and she looks between Kisa and me quickly, like she’s making assumptions about why I have her right next to me. “No,” she whispers.

The woman’s eyes are red and puffy, and her face is speckled with pale splotches. She wipes at her eyes, trying to wipe away tears she hadn’t bothered with before. She blinks quickly and smoothes her dress in a similar way that Kisa had earlier. “My Lord,” she says, her voice fighting not to sound strained. “I’d like to take my daughter home if it pleases you. I apologize for her disobedience, it won’t happen again.” She sends a cold glare at Kisa, and I feel the small girl shrink even further behind me.

“Why don’t you both stay out here?” Whatever blood that still remains in the woman’s face drains and her mouth drops as if she’s lost for words. “In fact,” I add before she can protest, “why doesn’t everyone come out?”

If Kisa and her mother were nearby, that probably meant others were nearby as well. I wonder how many people here are as brave as the little girl and her mama. As I lift my hands to cup around my mouth, I can only hope that my hunch isn’t wrong and I don’t look like a major idiot per usual.

“Hey!” I shout, “I know you’re all watching. I’m much more handsome up close, I promise.” I glance at Kisa and her mother once again and add, “We come in peace.”

A smile spreads across Kisa’s face even as a frown descends on her mother’s. I can tell she wants to say _no_ , but she’s too scared of my wrath to object. She takes a look around and forces a small smile. “Of course, my Lord.”

It takes a little while, but bit by bit the people come out. They appear from behind trees and buildings, creeping out as slowly as if they think we might bite. For all I know, that’s exactly what they expect. There are more than I had been expecting—there seem to be close to forty. I smile and glance back at Tulio’s bush, knowing he must be dying to come out.

_Not yet._

“All right.” The small buzz of chatter that had arisen stops as soon as my voice begins. All of their eyes focus on me and I swallow. “We’re not here to hurt you. At least not on purpose.” I add the last part before thinking about it and mentally wince as I think about what it might have done to Tulio. “Anyways, you don’t have to hide from us.”

“We’re not _hiding_ ,” Kisa calls from the sideline despite the cuff over the ears she receives from her mother. “You told us we weren’t allowed outside. Are we allowed to leave now?” Her eyes are wide; hopeful. The people all look at me with the same expression pasted on their faces. I shrug.

“Yeah, sure.” I move over to the bush and reach inside, searching for Tulio’s arm. “But, you have to be nice to…” When I don’t find him I turn my head towards the bush and spread the leaves apart in search of him. The bush was much larger than I had originally thought.

It’s much darker inside the plant and I can only see the outline of his features. He had crawled as far back as the fern allows, and his eyes are as wide as his face is pale. I can hear his slightly erratic breathing and suddenly know that Tulio has heard every word that’s been uttered.

When he sees me reaching out for him, he shrinks back and shakes his head wildly. “Don’t make me go out there,” he whimpers.

“Come on,” I say quietly, “you have to face them eventually.”

I hold out my hand for Tulio to take it, and he simply stares at it like it’s a foreign object. I understand him being afraid, but if we’re going to pull off this con then he’s going to have to come to terms with his mistake eventually. At this point, getting the gold is the least of my worries, but _surviving_ certainly isn’t. I know that if Tulio or I mess this up, it will be the end for both of us. And let’s face it; I’m far too handsome to die young.

My heart clenches when Tulio begins shaking. His eyes are as wide as they can open, and he’s staring at my hand like it’s the bane of his existence. I wiggle my fingers encouragingly and give him a smile, hoping to let him know I’m on his side. Because let’s face it, Tulio could kill a thousand men and I’d still stand beside him.

Eventually, with a long heaving breath and a gulp, he takes my hand and I pull him out of the bush, stopping to wipe off any excess dirt and leaves.

“…you have to be nice to Lord Tulio.” I finally finish, pulling Tulio into the middle of the square.

It’s difficult to say exactly who screamed first. News must spread very quickly here, for only in moments it seems that just about everyone is running into each other and tripping over themselves just to get out of there. I feel Tulio tense next to me, and when I look at him, he’s staring at a singular point on the ground, his gray eyes seeing far beyond the square tiles.

“Wait!” I raise a hand in an attempt to stop them, but it does no good. I look to the left to see Kisa staring at Tulio with wide confused eyes as she’s dragged off by her mother, whose face is once again wet with tears.

When the dust settles, Tulio clears his throat.

“Well, I faced them. Now what?”

 This time he doesn’t pull away when I place my hand on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey tulio turns out killing people is bad maybe you shouldn't have done that


End file.
